Seven Days in the life of Sara Sidle
by Chapin CSI
Summary: GS. Sara's life will change in seven days with the help of her colleagues. On the first day, Grissom left on vacation & on the 7th day, Sara joined him. What happened on the 8th day? ...Well, among other things, Grissom finally talked about Lady Heather
1. Thursday

After Bloodlines, Sara's life will change in seven days... with a little help from her CSI colleagues.

* * *

SEVEN DAYS IN THE LIFE OF SARA SIDLE.

THURSDAY: Grissom.

"Let's go." Grissom said softly, reaching for her hand. "I'll take you home."

Grissom drove, glancing at her now and then, wondering what to say.

"Were you at a party, Sara?" he asked at last.

Her reaction was immediate and angry.

"Oh, yeah." She said sarcastically "Like every Thursday night."

Grissom turned his attention back to the road.

Sara regretted her words. Why was it that every time Grissom tried to talk to her, she felt this irrepressible need to fight? Why did she have this need to rattle him or even offend him? Why-She sighed and looked outside. She knew why.

She wanted to see him show some kind of feeling, at least once. Even if it was only anger, she would have welcomed it. Only, he'd never do it, would he? He'd never show any strong emotion. Not anger. Not to mention love or desire-

He would only show concern; concern for a coworker who had drank too much.

She closed her eyes, wishing she had a delete key in her brain; a convenient key that she could use to erase tonight forever. Or not just tonight, but this whole year-

She took a deep breath before turning to him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok." He said, maddeningly calm.

Sara glared at him. This response was just so typical of him, and so irritating; so devoid of feeling that it seemed as if he simply didn't care.

"By the way," she said impulsively, "I congratulated Nick on his almost promotion."

"Sara," he sighed, "I know you were angry-"

"Yeah, I was pissed." she admitted, "I still am; I'm disappointed, too. I mean, I thought I was doing a good job-"

"You are" he said immediately.

"But not enough for a promotion." She retorted

Grissom glanced at her and continued driving.

"Do you know what pissed me off the most?" she continued, "That I got the news from him. It felt like a blow on my face. You should have told me, Grissom. It was a matter of simple courtesy-"

"You're right, I should have." He admitted quietly.

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't know what to tell you."

Sara looked away. She couldn't take any more of these evasive responses from Grissom. She was glad to see they were approaching her street. With some luck, she would be able to get off his car without hearing some 'talk' about the dangers of alcohol.

Grissom looked for a place to park

"Sara," he said before she could even reach for the door handle, "Wait."

"Grissom, if it's about tonight, I promise it won't happen again-"

"I know that." he interrupted. "I just wanted to tell you this: You are doing a good job, but giving you a promotion would have been a mistake."

"Why?"

"Because it would have bound you even more to your job."

She glared at him.

"So, there's a double standard here? Nick can be bound to it, but I can't?"

"Sara, Nick has a healthier attitude towards his job. You're letting it take control over your life-"

"You should look in the mirror before you preach, Grissom."

"Exactly." He admitted, "That's precisely why I'm preaching, Sara; I know what I'm talking about. You're young; you can still have a life-"

"-I like my life-" she argued.

"- and I don't want you to become like me." He finished.

Sara looked at him.

"There are worse things-" she muttered.

"Yes." He admitted, regretfully "Like drinking."

She opened her mouth but no sound came. She looked at Grissom, and for a brief moment she saw something in his eyes –Tenderness? Regret, maybe?

"Grissom, I made a mistake and I regret it." She said, "I'm ashamed, if you want to know the truth. I just-" she paused, gulping. "I just wanted to be a good investigator and now I've messed up-"

"Sara-"

"-I've disappointed you."

"Sara, I'm not disappointed. I'm worried; this was a lapse of judgment and the consequences could have been devastating." He softened his tone, "But they weren't." he looked at her for a moment, gathering courage to add, "And I'm grateful that you're not losing your job because frankly I don't want to work or live without you near me."

She turned to look at him in the eye, wondering how sincere he was, but before she could take any delight in the tone of his voice or the meaning of his words, she immediately remembered that Grissom had done this before. He knew how to bestow words and little gestures at moments of crisis; tiny morsels of affection and crumbs of love that were always enough to make her happy. Happy enough to forgive and forget-

Sara shook her head.

"You don't have to do that." She said

"Do what?"

"Patronize me." she said, looking away, "I feel bad enough about this without you saying things out of pity."

"Sara, it's not pity." he took a deep breath, "I'm serious. When that cop started talking, I thought there'd been an accident. For a second, I thought I'd lost you."

"Grissom, I'm sorry." She said sincerely.

"It's all right, Sara," he said, trying to smile, "just don't do it again"

"I won't." she said.

They remained silent for a moment.

He took a deep breath.

"Sara," Grissom said solemnly. When she turned to him, he said, "I know you have feelings for me-"

She gaped. He had never acknowledged this in so many words.

"I wish you didn't-" he added softly, "You see, I've let my job consume and…I just don't know anything about relationships," he admitted with some difficulty, "Except what I see in the course of my job, which isn't encouraging-"

"Grissom-"

"I kept you at a distance because I just didn't think I could give you anything, but you just…" he shook his head, "You keep expecting things from me, and you insist on seeing me as a role model-"

"I admire you," she said quietly, "What's so wrong about that?"

"Oh, Sara, I'd need a whole night to tell you." He said tiredly. He looked at her, and again, she saw something. Tenderness, definitely.

"Sara," he said cautiously, "I think a few days off would do you good-"

"I don't need any time off" she protested, "What I need right now is something to keep me busy-"

"Then learn to knit." He said curtly. "Take dancing lessons -"

"Besides," she interrupted, "You're not the right person to tell me this. When was the last time you had a vacation, Grissom?"

Grissom sighed.

"I can't remember." He admitted, "But this isn't about me. It's about you."

Sara looked outside, refusing to accept his suggestion.

"All right." Grissom said quietly. "All right, Sara."

She thought he was dismissing her, so she reached for the door handle.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She muttered, but before she could open the door, he spoke and his words froze her on the spot.

"Uh, I won't be coming to work tomorrow. I'm taking a few days off."

"What?" she turned.

"I've been thinking about you, Sara. Yesterday I finally realized that if I want you to do something, I'll have to do it myself first. And if I'm going to be your role model, I'll have to be a better one. So- I'll start by taking some days off. Two weeks to be exact."

"_Two weeks_?" she asked, stunned. "_You _are taking two weeks off." She repeated, growing more and more skeptical, "And what are you going to do, go camping at the body farm?"

"No," he smiled calmly "I'm going abroad." He said, and he chuckled when he noticed her expression of disbelief, "I'm leaving tomorrow night." He added, while searching something in his shirt pocket.

"Where are you going?"

"Lake Atitlán, Guatemala. They have a butterfly reserve and I'm going to help them classify their specimens. Plus, I'll be fishing and hiking. I'm taking a vacation, Sara." He looked pointedly at her, "I figured that if I do this, you will too. Eventually." He found the brochure he'd been searching for and offered it to her. "It's a beautiful place; they're off season now, so it's easy to get a room in a nice hotel"

Sara hesitatingly took the brochure.

"I'm glad you're doing this." She said, looking at the pictures. "Really, Grissom."

When she handed the brochure back, he refused to take it.

"Keep it." Grissom said, smiling faintly.

TBC

Thank you for reviewing!

Note: that Grissom is one lucky guy! Lake Atitlán is beautiful!


	2. Friday

SEVEN DAYS IN THE LIFE OF SARA SIDLE:

Spoiler: Lady Heather's box. (I don't remember if Sara ever worked in the Lady Heather cases but for this story I'm assuming that she didn't.)

Notes: This is a Grissom/Sara story that centers on Sara's life after "Bloodlines". Each chapter will involve one or two of her colleagues doing or saying something that will affect her life. No matter what happens on each chapter though, I promise you there'll be a happy ending.

* * *

Prologue

Sara had listened as Grissom talked about his trip and about the precautions to be taken for a trip to Central America, but she hadn't paid much attention; it was hard for her to hear him talk about going away.

Grissom eventually noticed her lack of response.

"Hey, you must be tired. I'm sorry." He said gently. "Go home. You need to sleep."

Sara gave him a little smile of thanks.

"Bye, Grissom." She said as she got out of the car. But just before she could close the door, Grissom reached across the passenger seat and stopped her.

"Sara?"

"Yes?"

"Think about it, ok?" he said. She was going to ask what he meant by that, but he quickly closed the door and left.

'Think about what?' thought Sara as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. Think about not drinking anymore? She was all for that. After tonight's scare, she had decided not to touch the stuff every again.

Think about taking time off? Well, she couldn't do that now, could she? Without him, they would be short-handed at the lab; she had several pending cases- She just couldn't do it. Besides, (and she rolled her eyes when she asked herself this) where would she go? Home? Disney World?

Lake Atitlán?

She blushed when she noticed that she was clutching the brochure against her chest, as if it were something valuable that she wanted to keep close to her heart. She looked at it for a moment. She had the feeling that he had given it to her with some hidden purpose. Maybe he wanted to entice her with the beauty of the lake… maybe he hoped she'd go, now that they were off season-

'Stop it.' Sara told herself impatiently; 'stop over-thinking'

She needed to be realistic and she better start right now: Grissom had said many things but the one that should stick in her mind was that he wished she didn't have feelings for him. And as for following him to some far away place... no way. She knew Grissom; he would never sacrifice his precious solitude for her.

And besides... even if conditions were different, even if she somehow got the time and a place to go to... she'd never leave, would she?

She sighed. In the quiet of the night, when all she heard were her own hesitant steps down the hallway, she could admit it, if only to herself: She was afraid of taking time off.

She couldn't imagine doing nothing for a whole day, let alone a week. She couldn't imagine lying under the sun in some beach, alone with her thoughts. She could not do it. She needed to be active; she needed to exhaust herself… She had gotten to a point where she could only fell asleep after working a full eighteen-hour shift... or after drinking enough to pass out.

Sara rubbed her face, tiredly.

"Just stop it." She whispered. Stop thinking.

She entered her apartment and leant against the door after closing it.

She looked at the brochure for a moment, and then she shoved it under the phone book. She would not look at it again; at least not until Grissom's return; if he told her he had enjoyed not having every minute of his time filled with work, then she would think about traveling. Because she knew Grissom, (and a little ironic smile graced her lips as she thought this) No way would he last two weeks away from the lab; he was a work junkie, just like her…

He'd be back in a week if not sooner.

FRIDAY

Sara couldn't believe it. Problems had never piled up like this, at least not while she was still in her little apartment, her sanctuary. Once she was at the lab, life was fair game and she dealt with whatever was thrown her way. But today she felt as if she were under some sort of Murphy's law curse:

1. For the first time in years, her alarm clock had malfunctioned and she had overslept;

2. She had a headache (her fault; she was hung over after all) and she didn't have any painkillers around;

3. She had taken too long to get dressed (her fault again since she hadn't done any laundry in a week and the few clean clothes she had needed to be ironed).

4. Just as she was finishing grooming, she had accidentally spilled toothpaste on her blouse (her fault again; she was brushing her teeth and blow-drying her hair at the same time).

"Oh, damn it, not now!" she had growled, running back to her bedroom to change. The only other item that was ready to wear was a blouse that didn't go too well with her pants. Not that she cared that much about fashion, not really; what bothered her was to be late for Catherine's first night as Supervisor. A pissed off Catherine might decide to assign her the worst case.

She was ready to go but first she wasted some precious minutes looking for her car keys; she looked everywhere and she was truly getting upset when she remembered… A cop had confiscated them last night.

It's not that she had forgotten last night; she had simply managed to keep it from overwhelming her with guilt. But now that she had allowed the memories to invade her thoughts, she swallowed hard and for a moment she simply stood in the middle of her living room/kitchen/office, reliving everything that had happened.

She couldn't tell which moment had been the worst: Was it when the cops recognized her as a CSI? Or when they said they'd call her boss? Or was it when Grissom looked at her in the eye, realizing that she wasn't as tough as she desperately wanted the world to think?

She shook her head in anger. She needed to forget last night. Going to work would help.

* * *

All was forgotten by the time she entered the CSI lab. Sara Sidle the person turned into Sara Sidle the investigator: completely professional and capable of facing Murphy's law, daring it to try its best.

And just as she had suspected, Catherine wasn't happy about her coming in late and as the cases had already been assigned, she got the one that required visiting a garbage dump. The cops were looking for a female body.

"It's almost certain that Stephanie Cochran is buried somewhere in there," Catherine explained, "CSI is working around the clock since this morning and we'll be helping Eckley's team. Well, you will, that is."

"Oh." Sara mumbled. That was bad, but nothing she couldn't handle. "I'll see you later, then." She said distractedly and left.

Catherine shook her head.

She would have to talk to Sara one of these days. Really, that blouse didn't do anything for her. Mustard and stripes, for God's sake!

* * *

By the time Sara returned to the lab, her coveralls were filthy and she had seen enough rotten vegetables to wonder if she'd ever fancy another salad in her lifetime. No, she hadn't found the female body they were looking for, but her work hadn't been in vain: she had found an arm: a male arm…with intact fingers, which meant ID would be possible. 'So there, Murphy', she thought as she went to talk to Catherine. 'My little trip to the dump wasn't a complete waste!'

Catherine was checking out the overtime sheet when Sara knocked on her door. Catherine took one thoughtful look at Sara, who was sporting a freshly-showered, no-time-for-make-up look… plus the same baby-puke colored blouse. Catherine sighed. One of these days, she'd have to give Sara a little talk. Woman-to-Woman talk. Chic-woman to not-so-chic woman talk.

Meanwhile, she listened to Sara talk about Eckley's case. When Sara finished explaining about the arm, Catherine decided that the time had come for a little talk.

"Sara," she said, "Don't you ever get tired of wearing those combat boots?"

"What's wrong with them?" Sara frowned.

"They're masculine shoes." Catherine observed. Then she added with a kindly tone, "Look: I know we do a hard physical work and we need to be comfy, and I know that Grissom would never tell you this, but Sara, we don't deal only with evidence and dead bodies; we deal with the public too. We sometimes need to do some extra effort, but it's worth it, don't you think? After all," she smiled, "being pretty isn't something to be ashamed of-"

Sara hesitated. Somewhere in those words there seemed to be both an insult and a compliment, but she just wasn't sure.

"Well-" she started, but Catherine was still talking.

"-we just have to help nature a little." Catherine said, "And clothes can do a lot for you but they can turn against you too," she said gently, while eyeing Sara's blouse "Mustard doesn't go well with your skin tone, Sara. Those horizontal stripes are a big no-no for you either, because they emphasize your midriff, which isn't your best feature since you stopped exercising-"

"Excuse me?-"

"-Men notice all this, believe me. Even Grissom-" She said meaningfully.

"I don't think he has the time" Sara said with a forced smile

"Oh, please," Catherine rolled her eyes skeptically, "Grissom's a guy, Sara. And like all guys, he notices things. And if you don't believe me, just let me say two words: Lady Heather-"

Sara frowned

"Lady-?"

"- I mean," Catherine continued, "nobody would have thought that Grissom would be attracted to her, but there he was, finding excuses to talk to her alone. Men are all the same, Sara. Show them a little cleavage and black stockings and they're putty in your hands-"

Sara was busily trying to remember this Heather woman. She remembered the web site, mainly because Nick and Archie had been drooling over it and she had teased them a little. But nobody had ever mentioned anything about Grissom-

She blinked when she realized that Catherine was still talking.

"-so you see," Catherine was saying, "- a push-up bra could make a big difference-"

"If I wanted to look like a slut-" Sara muttered.

"What?" Catherine asked, lifting her eyebrow.

"Nothing." Sara replied.

"Uh, huh." Catherine nodded, knowing very well that Sara was getting pissed off. It was time to cut short this talk, "So Sara; all I mean is, if you have a great bod, it's ok to show it off now and then." Catherine smiled winningly, "Just don't wear horizontal stripes, ok?"

"Right." Sara muttered, pushing her seat back, "Well. I have to go to the morgue. Doc Robbins promised to look at my arm-" She left Catherine's office and strode purposefully down the hallway but in a direction opposite the morgue.

She just had to visit Lady Heather's web site.

Catherine let her go with a little sigh. Horizontal stripes and that awful color- Poor girl. She paused briefly to wonder if she had made a mistake by mentioning Heather. It was old history and Grissom had probably forgotten all about her, but Sara might not see it that way-

Oh, well. It might serve as a wake up call for the girl. Sara had potential… if she only took advice!

NEXT CHAPTER ---SATURDAY: Greg

TBC

thank you for reviewing!!!


	3. Saturday

SATURDAY: Greg

Prologue

Sara logged off and then didn't move for a few minutes. She simply stared at her own reflection on the dark screen.

She knew she wasn't pretty –not in a conventional way, as her mom used to say to comfort her- but she had never cared, really; she had gone through life depending more on her brains than her physical appearance and she had done very well, thank you.

There were times, however, when the Demon of Insecurity reared its head and whispered discouraging words in her ear. Today was one of those days.

Catherine's criticism had stung her badly, and Sara still couldn't understand why. After all, it wasn't the first time the older woman had tried to talk fashion to her, and Sara had always managed to placate her with vague promises to do better…

But this time Catherine had mentioned _her_ and it had made a big difference. It wasn't just that Grissom was attracted to someone –though that in itself was hard to take – but the fact that he liked _this_ woman. Not that she was jealous, she told herself; oh, no. Not at all. She had always despised jealous people; too many times a little spark of insecurity flared into jealousy, and then tragedy struck.

So, no, she wasn't jealous…

…But a little voice whispered in her ear then, reminding her that she had hurried to log on Lady Heather's web site instead of going to the morgue, as Doctor Robbins had requested. And all so she could stare at a stunningly beautiful woman –a fantasy woman- who apparently turned men into putty, including Grissom. Sara shook her head slightly, musing at the irony: She had always hoped to see a human side to Grissom, but this… this was more than she had bargained for. Still, she couldn't believe that Grissom would fall for this woman simply because she wore black leather. There must be something else to her… Maybe she had a brilliant mind, or maybe she was a dazzling conversationalist-

Maybe this Lady Heather was a sweet tempered woman who didn't need to fight every time they talked, Sara thought morosely. She surely wouldn't be caught dead wearing some ratty, mustard-colored blouse… She probably didn't even drink-

"Oh, that's enough!" Sara growled, snapping out of her little pity-me trip.

She needed to go to the morgue.

SATURDAY: Greg

It was six o'clock. The night shift was winding down, and Doc Robbins was putting his delicate equipment away. He had explained to Sara that her unidentified arm had been cut off with a very sharp blade; it had been sliced in fact, and very easily: There were no hesitant cuts on the skin or the bone. 'Maybe the murderer is a butcher', Robbins had said, happy to speculate. Grissom didn't let him do that often enough.

"Thank you, Doc." Sara said, reading the rest of the doctor's report. "I guess the rest of the body is somewhere in the garbage." She commented, "I guess I'll have to go back tonight." She waved goodbye and went back to the lab. Her shift was ending in an hour, but she was committed to identify the arm. The tattoo might give her some clues. She smiled to herself, thinking that Greg might want to help her with that. Time to visit her young colleague, she thought; and at the right time too. He was probably in the break room brewing some of his pricey coffee.

Leaving the safety of the morgue, Sara went upstairs, self-consciously smoothing down her blouse. Damn, maybe she should have kept her lab coat on; she felt as though everybody was staring at her stripes.

She lifted her chin, though. So what if she looked bulky? So what if mustard didn't flatter her? So what if-

"Hey, Sara," called out Hodges somewhere behind her, "Nice shirt."

Sara's mood fell.

* * *

She entered the break room with an expression that Nick and Greg interpreted as 'don't even dare to speak to me.'

But Greg would always dare.

"What's up, Sara?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sara replied morosely, "Apparently I don't dress well enough to do my job" "Who says?" asked Greg, "You look great."

Sara glared at him. Unfortunately for Greg, Sara had never learned to accept personal compliments. They made her as uncomfortable as criticisms.

"Looks like you took it seriously, girl." Greg said with a serene smile on his face.

"Hey Sara, forget it." Nick said kindly, "Besides…" he said, pausing for a moment to get her attention, "I know someone who likes you just as you are."

"Who?" asked Greg.

"Pete Martin" answered Nick, turning in time to see Greg's frown.

"Who's Pete Martin?" asked the young man.

"He works with the day shift-"

"The fingerprint guy, Nick?" scoffed Greg, "Oh, please; that guy's an idiot-"

"Maybe so, but he's interested."

"So what? Sara doesn't need any guy from the day shift-"

"Well, maybe not but Sara could benefit from a little roll in the hay-"

"Hey, Nick," protested Sara at last, "do you know how offensive that sounds?" Sara looked from one to the other, "And stop talking as if I weren't here!"

"Uh, sorry," said Nick, "Look, Sara. All I'm saying is, if that guy asks you out, think before saying no, all right? He has tickets to all the games-"

"Then you go out with him." Sara said, morosely gulping her coffee.

Greg stared at her.

"Hey, Sara, that's blue Hawaiian; you don't gulp it down, you sip it." He said, lifting his own cup and sipping the coffee, "Mmmmmh!" he hummed in appreciation.

"Thanks for the lesson," she said smiling falsely. Greg smiled openly. He had always been strangely immune to Sara's thorny attitude.

"Any time." He said.

"By the way, Sara-" Nick asked, after a moment. "do you know where is Grissom?"

"Do you, Sara?" asked Greg eagerly, "I don't buy that 'vacation' story. He never goes anywhere-"

"I have no idea where he is." she said evasively. Then she sarcastically added, "But maybe Catherine convinced him to get an extreme make-over."

She immediately realized she was being disloyal to Grissom and regretted her words, but the men found them very funny.

"What, that beard isn't extreme enough for her?" laughed Nick.

"Maybe she'll get him to drop the baggy pants thing-" added Greg.

"You know what I've just realized, Greggo? Someone's been watching television on her few free nights-" Nick teased, glancing at Sara. "Someone needs a date, and badly-"

She rolled her eyes and left the room. She'd simply ask for Greg's help by phone.

* * *

Sara was checking up fingerprints, when Greg entered the lab.

"I checked up the tattoo, Sara. That arm you found belongs to a member of an LA gang." He said, "The 'Manitos'."

"Oh." She said, glancing up briefly. "Thanks, Greg," she said, turning her attention back to the screen, "If that guy was fingerprinted at some point, he'll be here-" she muttered to herself. She wanted to identify this guy and she'd do it even if it took her all day. Hopefully it would. She wasn't tired enough to go home yet.

She worked quietly for a while until she noticed that Greg was still hovering by the door.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing." He said quickly, but without moving.

Sara stopped her work altogether.

"What?" she insisted.

He hesitated a little and then he closed the door behind him. He approached her desk and leant on it.

"Hum, Sara…" he said, unsure of what to say, "I was wondering if… I mean, I thought you-"

"Greg, I don't have time for this. What do you want?"

"Would you like to come with me to my class reunion?"

Taken by surprise, Sara dropped the pencil she was holding and when she tried to pick it up, Greg did too and their heads clashed.

"Aw," moaned Sara, "You idiot!"

"Ouch!" Greg rubbed his head, "For a woman you have a hard skull, you know?"

"It's as hard as yours!" she retorted, "What do you think women are made of, anyway? Cotton?"

Greg looked at her and smiled winningly.

"I was told they were made of sugar and spice, actually."

Sara glared, still rubbing her forehead.

"Why are you still here, anyway? Your shift ended a long time ago!"

"You said you needed to know all about the tattoo ASAP." He reminded her. "but I also wanted to ask you-"

"You just did-" She said impatiently. "-and the answer is no."

"Oh, come on, hear me out first. Some old classmates from high school are coming to Las Vegas, and I was wondering if you -"

"No." she said, turning her attention back to her computer.

"You don't know what I was going to say!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested." She said evasively.

"Just listen!" he pleaded, "I agreed to host a party and I'd like you to be my date. It's just for one evening!" he said a bit hurt by her attitude, "I'm not asking you to cook or anything like that-"

Sara took a deep breath and turned to him.

"You want me to be your _date_?" she asked slowly… dangerously so.

"Yeah."

"You want _me _to go with you." She said coldly, then she asked "What is this, Mock-Sara Day? Do you want to join in the fun-"

"What fun?"

"- first Catherine blasts my clothes and then Hodges-" she glared at Greg, "And now you say you want me to go to a party… "

"Hey, this has nothing to do with them-" he said quickly, "I just need a smart, beautiful woman by my side. You're it."

"Beautiful; yeah, right." She muttered to herself. Then she said aloud, "You want me to go with you." She said skeptically, "_Me_, with my jeans and my combat boots-"

"Hell, no," he frowned, "You would have to wear your little black dress." He said and when he noticed her expression, he added, "I mean, you do have one, right? Every girl has one-"

Sara glared anew and, realizing she wasn't going to be able to work anymore, turned off her PC and picked up her reports.

"So," Greg said, watching her get ready to leave, "Will you think about it? It's next Tuesday-"

Sara glared so eloquently that Greg knew better than to insist.

TBC

COMING UP:

Sunday: Warrick

Monday: Brass


	4. Sunday

Prologue (Saturday night)

Sara's new alarm clock worked wonderfully.

She stayed in bed a little longer, though. She had a lot to think about before facing her daily routine. First, she thought of her job. Her current cases were ok; nothing too traumatic to handle. On the other hand, there was more to do at the lab since Grissom was gone, and Catherine was taking her duties as supervisor very seriously. So seriously that she wasn't working on the field at all. 'That's ok.' Sara thought. She could deal with it.

As for the rest … she cringed. It had gone beyond 'Murphy's law'; she would forever call it 'Sidle's law' now.

'What an awful day,' she thought. Actually it had been two days, Friday and Saturday. Or three, if she counted Thursday, with the cops and Grissom-

Sara rubbed her face. 'Don't go there' she ordered herself. 'Just get up.' She was determined to go to work early and forget all about last night. She'd do one task at a time, choose a suitable garment, eat something healthy, and leave on time.

She did all this carefully, and she even had spare time to check out her e-mail.

The message from caught her attention right away but she hesitated before opening it. After hearing about Grissom and Lady Heather, she didn't think she would ever think of Grissom the same way. She didn't like to admit it since it was absolutely ridiculous, but the truth was she had handled Grissom's rejections by assuming that he simply wasn't interested in _anyone_. She had assumed that for him, the job would always come first. But it wasn't like that, since Grissom had been more than _interested_ in this Lady Heather, a _suspect_ in a case. And that angered Sara, and it made her-

She almost said it aloud. 'Jealous.'

She opened the e-mail, just to stop thinking.

_'Hey.' _He wrote_, 'Just a short note to let you know that I arrived last night at Panajachel (or 'Pana'), one of several villages surrounding the lake. Last night I couldn't see much of the lake itself, but right now I understand what the phrase 'take my breath away' means. It's a beautiful place, Sara; there are several volcanoes surrounding the lake, and from my window it looks as if the whole world is colored in bright shades of blue – the water, the sky, the volcanoes, and the mountains._

_Now for the eerie part: I'm one of only ten guests at a fifty-room hotel, Sara. Last night I sat on this balcony and for a moment I felt as if I were alone in the world; just me and the moon. But it wasn't as peaceful as it sounds. _

_I couldn't take the silence and the inactivity. You know me. I can take the silence as long as I have lots to do. _

_Maybe I'm going through withdrawal; you know, from the job. Symptoms include insomnia, a pounding headache… and restlessness: I just can't sit back and enjoy the clean air and the stunning view… but I'll try. All I need is to fill the hours away, so apart from my work at the butterfly reserve, I'll take some scuba diving lessons. Greg would applaud, uh?_

_I'll write more later._

_Grissom._

_Enc. _

She opened the enclosed file and smiled. He had taken the picture by holding the camera at arm's length, capturing himself in front of the lake. There was an explosion of blues in there: the sky, the lake, his t-shirt… but not the blue of his eyes, since he was wearing a baseball cap that shaded half his face. It didn't matter though; he was smiling and that smile was really the focus of the whole picture. Grissom just didn't smile enough.

'He looks happy', she thought wistfully. She touched the screen, trying to imagine what his face would feel like if she were there. Warm, from the sun. Silky, from the beard that he had grown in a year-

'Had _she_ touched him? She suddenly asked herself, thinking of Lady Heather.

Sara turned off her PC.

Sara thought she'd have to go back to the garbage dump, but to her surprise, Eckley's people had found the bodies.

"Your arm has a body and a name now, Sara." Catherine said, showing her a picture of a young man, "Anthony Garcia. He was working at an adult video store on the strip. According to his boss, the guy was keeping a low profile."

"Do you think he was killed for leaving the gang?"

"Most probably," Catherine nodded, "The Manitos gang doesn't allow members to quit."

"I'll call Los Angeles then." Sara said, "They must have files on this gang and-"

"Hum, we won't be handling this case, Sara. We're handing it over to the Gang experts. It's not the first time the Manitos come to Vegas to 'disarm' their buddies, and they already have leads." Catherine shuffled some papers, "I need you to help Warrick. He's investigating a rape and murder case that he started investigating yesterday."

"Oh." Sara nodded, "Ok."

She hated rape cases.

SUNDAY: Warrick

Warrick Brown took a deep breath, trying to keep his impatience from showing. They had been talking to Shane Dulles since three in the morning and the guy had expertly evaded all their questions, even the tough ones posed by Sara. Too tough, in Brown's opinion.

Warrick wanted to be careful with this suspect; if this was the guy who had raped and killed Andrea Jones, he was way too cool to be rattled into a confession. Direct questioning or accusations wouldn't work with this man; not until they had some physical proof of his involvement.

Warrick's plan was to simply let him talk and get as much information from him. Sara however, was getting more and more aggressive in her questioning and Warrick was afraid Dulles would simply walk out or ask for a lawyer.

Warrick pushed his seat back and interrupted her.

"Sara, would you come with me, please?"

Sara shot him an unfriendly look but she followed him out of the interrogation room.

"What the hell are you doing?" hissed Warrick as soon as she closed the door.

"What does it look like to you?" she hissed back, "I'm trying to get some answers from this perp!"

"Sara, we're simply talking to this guy, we aren't close to making an arrest! I want this guy to talk freely; he might over talk and tell us some lie we can use against him. If we press him too hard, he'll lawyer up and we'll lose him!"

"He's guilty." She replied adamantly, "He's guilty and you know it-"

"No, I don't. Not until all the evidence gets processed."

She was going to protest but instead she backed off.

"Fine. Talk to him, then. Get him some coffee." She said angrily, "Me, I'm going back to review our evidence."

Later that day Warrick filed the tapes containing his interrogation of Shane Dulles. No, the man didn't confess, but he had made several statements that were clearly contradictory. And Sara and Dr. Robbins had gone over Andrea's body again, discovering a smudge on one of her toenails. A fingerprint.

It looked like the case would be solved after all.

Warrick sighed. He was tired, but there were two things he wanted to do before going home: Get breakfast and talk to his friend. Hopefully he would be able to do both at the same time…

He found Sara in the locker room.

"Hey, Sara," he said from the door, "We have a call. I need you to come with me."

"What?" she frowned, "Our shift is over-" she started, even though inwardly she was glad to have an excuse not to go home just yet.

"It might be related to our case." Warrick said, and that was enough for her. She followed him so eagerly that he felt a bit bad for fooling her like this. He only hoped she wouldn't be too pissed off.

Warrick held his breath when he parked the car in a quiet street. She immediately glanced around; there was not sign of police activity anywhere.

"Where is it?" she asked but he simply motioned her to follow him into a colorful restaurant.

"Is this a crime scene?" she asked, glancing around. The place was decorated with a Caribbean theme: palms, real coconuts and flowers.

"Oh, yeah," he nodded placidly, "It is."

It was a cozy place, the kind that pleases adults and kids alike. Sara could smell some savory scents coming from the kitchen: coffee… pancakes… fresh bread… juice…

"We're in luck," said Warrick, glancing at the empty tables. "In half an hour this place will be packed." He turned to the counter and greeted, "Hey, Serena!"

Sara turned in time to see a tall, gray haired woman look up and smile widely.

"Warrick! Baby, how are you?" She exclaimed, walking around the counter to hug him. She was as tall as Warrick, even in her flat sandals, "You brought a friend?" she asked, turning her attention to Sara

"This is Sara Sidle." Warrick said helpfully, "Sara, this is my aunt Serena, and she's a murderer."

Sara opened her mouth but only managed to smile uncomfortably. Serena laughed openly.

"Oh, you!" she said, "One of these days you'll get me in trouble for that little joke." she looked at Sara, "It's all because of my death-by-chocolate cake-" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, it _is_ to die for-" Warrick added with a big smile, "All that butter and real Belgian chocolate-"

"And I suppose you want a slice?"

"Uh, no, not today. My cholesterol is acting up again." He said sheepishly, "We'd like something lighter, like pancakes with fruit compote. Strawberry, or pineapple, Sara? Everything here is home-made."

"Uh, well, Hum." Sara would have gladly answered, 'thanks but no thanks', but she knew she already owed Warrick an apology after last night's outburst. Besides she was hungry and things here smelled great. "Maybe strawberry." she said, looking at Serena.

"Very well!" she nodded, already walking away, "And some fruit juice." Serena added as she hurried to the kitchen, "And milk… and some real honey-" her voice trailed off.

Sara was relieved by the fact that Warrick's aunt wasn't a meddling woman. She had seated them in a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant, and after putting tall glasses of OJ and plates heaped with pancakes in front of them, she left.

They ate in silence; Sara felt a little overwhelmed by Warrick and Serena's kindness and she knew she had to say something. Sara cleared her throat.

"Thanks-" she started, but after a brief pause she blurted, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about- you know. I was getting angry at him and-"

"It's ok." He nodded, "I understand."

"It's just so damn frustrating-" she muttered.

"Hey. I know how it is." He said kindly, "Some cases hit us harder than others. For me, it's kids. For you, it's crimes against women."

Sara nodded, glad that he understood.

"Still..." he hesitated, "I think you take these cases too hard." He said cautiously, "I mean, we all want to solve our cases, but we're only human, Sara. Sometimes you act as if you've personally failed these women and -" Warrick paused when he noticed Sara's deep blush. "What is it? Sara, do you really feel you've failed them?"

"It's..." she opened her mouth to explain but she couldn't find the appropriate words. Her eyes filled with tears though, and suddenly there was no need for words. Warrick guessed that something awful had happened to her, he just didn't know what.

And then he thought he knew, and it was something too terrible to contemplate.

"Oh, God.... Sara." He dropped his fork, "Were you ever...?" he swallowed, "Did something happen to you-"

She shook her head.

"No." she said quickly, "Never." She admitted reluctantly, "But sometimes I-" her voice trailed off and he wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"-Sometimes, what?" he asked, looking at her in the eye. "Sara? Did you just say that sometimes you wish it had?"

Sara nodded, looking away.

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

"It's hard to explain-"

"Well, try." he said, "Because I sure don't believe you're serious."

Sara looked at the table, trying to get the courage to say this. A week ago she would have simply changed the subject but today? What the hell.

"A friend of mine was raped-" she whispered, without looking up.

"Oh, damn." He sighed.

"-It was during our first year in College." She added.

"Damn Sara. Did they get the guy?"

"No." she shook her head, "The cops never did a damn thing."

"College cops are useless sometimes-"

"It wasn't their fault, Warrick," she said, looking at him at last, "There was nothing they could do."

"Why?"

"Because my friend made a mess of things." She said softly, "By the time I got to her, she had already taken a shower and destroyed all the evidence." Sara closed her eyes, reliving the moment, "She had stripped the bed and washed the sheets, she had even tried to wash the mattress. She didn't even want to got to the hospital, despite the bruises and a concussion-" she paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm down. "All she wanted was to pretend that nothing had happened-" She looked at Warrick, "She begged me not to do anything, but of course I couldn't leave it like that, so I called the cops. She refused to cooperate"

"Some victims react like that." He nodded.

"She should have talked-" Sara said angrily, "she could have-"

"Hey, it's hard for some people, Sara. We know that." She nodded reluctantly and he asked, "So, what happened to her?"

"She said she wanted to forget the whole thing, but she couldn't." Sara took a deep breath, "Some days she couldn't even leave her room. She had nightmares and she became bulimic; she ended up transferring to another College-"

"Did she get any therapy or help?"

"I don't know-" She whispered.

"You don't?" he frowned.

"We fought all the time," Sara admitted, "By the time she left, we weren't talking anymore-"

Warrick stared at her.

"You turned your back on her after she refused to cooperate with the cops." He wasn't asking. He could very well imagine Sara acting self-righteously. When he noticed the blush intense on her cheeks again, he was sure. "Oh, man," Warrick said. "Sara, sometimes all we can do is to be there for our friends, no matter what they do or don't do."

To his surprise, she held back a sob. She put a hand on her eyes.

"Sara?"

"It was my fault." She confessed.

"Why?"

"It was my room." She said simply.

"What do you mean?"

"It happened in my room."

"That doesn't mean that it was your fault-"

"If I had have gone back with her, nothing bad would have happened-" she explained. She dropped her hand. Tears rolled down her face as she told her story, "We went to a conference that night." She said, "Our plan was to take notes and then go to my room to type them up. We were going back to the dorm, when some friends told us about a party; it wasn't my idea of fun, you know-" she smiled bitterly at the memory, "But Tine pressured me to go. She said I needed to be more popular. That I didn't need more study. Tina said, 'Go and have fun. Get laid for a change'. She didn't come along because she needed to improve her grades, so- She took our notes and went to my room to work on them. She was attacked there and…" _and the life she knew was over_, Sara could have added. "She never told me whether there was someone already there, or if she was attacked outside." She looked at Warrick, "But it was as if…as if it was meant for me and she was at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You can't know that, Sara."

"I should have been there. I would have stopped him…" she said, swallowing hard, "I would have reported it, I wouldn't have been destroyed the way she was-"

She was openly crying. Heart wrenching sobs that were going to leave her out of breathe soon if she didn't calm down. Warrick didn't try to make her stop though; he didn't even tell her the usual platitudes –she would not believe in them anyway. He simply let her cry until the anger and the pain were washed out of her.

Serena came to their table, worriedly glancing at both of them. Warrick calmly shook his head to let her know that things were under control. She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and placed it on the table, and mouthing the words, "I'll bring some tea" to Warrick, she left.

When Sara leant back on her seat, she was exhausted. She felt drained and –she had to admit, ashamed.

"You won't let me forget this, huh?" she challenged weakly.

Warrick simply handed her the handkerchief. Sara took it gratefully and blew her nose-very noisily- before she really looked at it.

"You always carry lacy handkerchiefs in your pocket, Warrick?" she said, attempting a little humor; he answered in kind.

"Hey, it did the job didn't it?"

She nodded, and then she took a deep, shaky breath. Warrick reached out with his hand and patted hers.

"Sara." He said quietly, "It wasn't your fault."

"It has to be somebody's, Warrick." She said, "It's the only way I can understand how something like this can happen."

"It was the Perp's fault." Warrick said. "You and your friend were the victims here."

"I wasn't hurt-" she protested.

"Sara, you were violated too; he used your room. I can't imagine how you felt afterwards. You must have thought that anyone in the building could be guilty-"

"Yeah." She nodded.

"You've blamed yourself for something that was out of your control, Sara. There's something you did wrong, though."

She looked up, her eyes filling with tears again.

"You left your friend alone." He said.

"I know." She admitted, "I wanted to help her, but I kept pressing her to report the crime and… in the end we couldn't even talk anymore."

"You have to talk to her."

"Now?" she asked.

"Today." He said. "Apologize. Offer her a shoulder to cry on." He said.

Sara returned to the lab with Warrick. She went back to the locker room to pick up her shoulder bag. She had promised Warrick she would go home and sleep- and call Tina. Locating her wouldn't be a problem; making the call would be. But she was going to do it, today or tomorrow, she still wasn't sure.

Meanwhile, she felt as though she was someone else. Sara Sidle didn't trust people easily and yet, she had told Warrick something she had kept inside for years. She had he unpleasant feeling that life was getting out of her control.

She was walking down the hallway, when she saw Greg trying to wrestle something out of the candy machine, with no success. Sara cringed when she remembered their last conversation; apparently Greg did too because he barely looked up when she approached him.

"Greg? What's up?"

He shrugged.

"Damn machine's acting up again." He said dismissively.

"Maybe I can help." She suggested

"Nah, forget it. Nick tried to get his own bar and failed-"

But Sara had spent enough bucks on this machine to know what to do.

"Let me try, Greg." she said, gently moving him out of the way, "You see, there's a routine to this-" she explained. "First you do this…" She mumbled, delicately pulling, "…now you do this-" she mumbled, delicately pushing… "Now, you'll see," she said mysteriously, suddenly smashing her fist on the machine.

Greg blinked when he saw the candy bar meekly falling on her palm.

"Wow." He said adoringly, "Who are you, some sort of Super Woman?"

She smiled, handing him the bar.

"Anything else I can do for you, Greg?" she said smugly.

"Can you fly?" he asked eagerly, "Can you walk through walls?"

"Only when I drink Tequila," she said, and Greg laughed at the joke that wasn't really a joke. Sara hoped this man would never know the things she had done this past year.

"That was great," Greg said sincerely as he ripped the paper off his candy bar, "Thanks." He said, walking backwards to his lab.

Sara looked at him and suddenly she decided to be courageous.

"Greg?" she asked, following him, "Did you get a date for your party?"

"No." he said, looking sideways at her.

"Were you really serious about taking me, Greg? You weren't making fun of me?"

"Hell, no." he said quickly, "Sara, I'd really like you to come with me."

"You should take a girlfriend. Surely you have one-"

"I'm between girlfriends right now." He said. Then he lowered his voice, "Look. This is a high school reunion and at that time I was in the Chess squad, Sara; I wasn't- and I'm not - a glorified athlete. If I take any girl…I know what my former classmates will do; they'll show her pictures from that time and I know how I look on them-"

"Greg, that doesn't matter; you're smart, you're good looking-"

"You really think so?" he asked, his mood brightening.

"Hum. Well. Yes." She admitted reluctantly.

"Thanks. You're perhaps the only girl who would look at those pictures and still respect me-"

"Maybe not." She warned, smiling a little, "Maybe I'd tease you-"

"It wouldn't be so bad; you're not a mean person, Sara. And I think that if my former classmates showed you the pictures, you would turn protective of me"

"You want to take me as your bodyguard, then." She smiled

"Hot bodyguard" He amended. He looked thoughtfully at her, "Sara, the truth is…I just want to show you off."

"Show me off?"

"Sara, you're pretty, you've got brains, and you kick ass. You're my fantasy." He said honestly. There was a moment of silence between them that he broke, "I always had a crush on you." He confessed, "But I realized that you loved… you know, _him_. I understand." He said quietly. "Really."

She looked at him for a long time.

"Greg? If I say yes, you're not going to make me dance, are you? I'm not too good at that."

"No dancing for us Sara. The program includes: cocktails at five-thirty –non-alcoholic beverages since there are several A.A. guys in the group; dinner at six-thirty –plenty of vegetables in the menu, so don't worry; and a visit to a casino at nine, at which time we'll both be leaving for work."

"All right, then." Sara smiled, "At what time do I have to be there?"

TBC

Next: Monday---Brass


	5. Monday

I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I hope you like this!

* * *

Prologue. 

That Sunday afternoon, Sara went to Catherine's office. She had prepared a short speech, but as soon as Catherine motioned her to enter and talk, Sara found herself tongue-tied. Still, she knew she couldn't just stand there, dumbly looking at her supervisor.

"I- hum, I need your help." She blurted out, "I've got to… I mean, I need-" deep breath, "I need a dress. Can you help me?"

"A-" Catherine opened her mouth in surprise, "A dress?

"Yeah. I'm going to a-" she paused. If she told Catherine what she needed the dress for, she'd never hear the end of it. "Yeah," She said instead, "I'd like to buy one, but I don't have a clue where to go, and if I go alone, I'll just walk around and waste my time, so-" big gulp, "Can you help me?"

"Sure!" Catherine said enthusiastically "Sure, Sara; wow, this is so unexpected- Do you want to do this now?"

"Can you?" Sara asked, truly relieved.

"Sure! I was getting sick of reading reports anyway," Catherine said, capping her pen, "Let's go!" She grabbed her keys and purse, and said "You know, last week I saw a dress that would look great on you-"

"Really?" Sara asked cautiously, "I was thinking of something that's not shiny or too short-"

"Oh," Catherine faltered a little, but she recovered quickly. She glanced at Sara's chest, "Well, I saw one that has a nice front-"

"No cleavage, either." Sara interrupted firmly.

"Oh, come on Sara, you could pull it off if you wore a-"

"And no push up bras either," Sara finished, and the look on her face told Catherine that it was useless to argue.

Catherine sighed.

"All right, have it your way." She relented. "Nothing short or shiny or with a low cut." Before they left her office, she turned to Sara, "But I have rules too. First," she said, "You won't wear that pale frosted lipstick ever again."

"What?" Sara self-consciously touched her lips, "What's wrong with it?"

"Are you kidding? With the lighting in this building you look as if you should be on a slab down at the morgue! As for my second rule," Catherine paused to get Sara's full attention, "No more blue eye shadow applied like cake frosting."

Sara considered arguing in her defense, but in the end she humbly accepted Catherine's conditions.

"All right then" Catherine said as she glanced at her watch, "We have two hours for this." She started walking and then she suddenly stopped, "Wait. Show me your hands."

Sara obeyed, a little mystified.

"You're getting a manicure. And a pedicure." She added, walking down the hallway with long, determined strides and forcing Sara to hurry behind, "You'll need open-toed shoes-"

"But no high heels-" Sara said, hurrying behind the older woman.

"Oh, don't you start!" Catherine protested.

Sara carefully hung her new dress in her closet. In the end, she had chosen a nice strawberry red dress that –according to the salesperson- didn't shout, _look at me, I'm desperate for attention! _but made people whisper, _Whoa, who's that? _

Sara thought she looked ok in it. At least she felt like herself in it and that was important to her. Shopping with Catherine had been _nicer_ than she would have thought, even after having to fence Catherine's inquiries about the dress and what she needed it for.

'If I can survive an afternoon with Catherine, I can survive anything.' Sara mused.

This thought reminded her of something she had been trying to do all day. She had started dialing Tina's phone number countless of times, only to hang up abruptly.

'I can survive this. I can.' She told herself, glancing at the phone.

Stalling for time, she checked out her e-mail.

There were three messages from Grissom. She eagerly opened them but by the second message she was disappointed. His messages were almost all about the butterfly reserve, with barely any mention of himself. He didn't seem to have any trouble with time off anymore; clearly, his initial panic had subsided since he had _butterflies _to focus his whole attention on.

Even the pictures he enclosed were all of the reserve or of other people. She would have loved to see if he was getting a tan or if he was wearing the colorful clothes made locally…

But he was turning his attention away from him- as always.

She didn't finish reading his third message. Instead, she sat back and mused on the things that had happened since he left.

She didn't know if his absence had helped, but suddenly Sara had discovered that people around her actually cared about her. Sure, Catherine patronized her; but she had spent an afternoon helping Sara into getting the best dress she could; Greg was infuriating sometimes, but he was a sweet, loyal friend. And Warrick… God, he had given her a lesson in friendship. They had reached out and done something while Grissom had simply avoided any involvement.

'Stop it.' Sara told herself. It was unfair to think like this. He had his own problems; he just … _he was Grissom_. That explained everything; and just then she resigned herself to the thought that her feelings for Grissom might be waning. It was painful, though.

She looked at the phone again. Needing to forget Grissom for a moment, she grabbed the phone and dialed the number and waited… until a familiar voice answered.

MONDAY

Sara felt physically and emotionally drained. Six hours ago, she had been getting ready to go home at the end of the shift, when Brass asked her to help in a case. Cops had found a dead body in the trunk of a car… in the middle of the desert. She had resigned herself to go, but she wasn't happy. Brass initial attempt at conversation, (_"You ok, Sara?_ _You look_-") had backfired; Sara's answer, ("_I'm not drunk, if that's what you think_.") just didn't leave an open door for conversation.

Now Sara was finishing with her examination of the trunk. David had removed the body a while ago, but there was enough evidence left behind to keep her occupied for hours. She had dealt unflinchingly with the blood and the brain matter, but there were maggots in there and she couldn't help to think of Grissom as she carefully preserved them.

"I'm finished here, Brass." Sara said at last. It was almost noon and the sun was already too bright, so she gladly let Brass drive.

Distracted by the sight of the desert, Sara mentally reviewed her conversation with Tina. Her old friend had been surprised and concerned when she heard Sara's voice, _('My God Sara, are you all right?_'), immediately asking if Sara was doing some 12-step program that required her to call others. ('_I've done 12-step programs several times,' _Tina had explained candidly_, 'but I failed every time. I just never had the guts to call you. But I've heard about you; I know you're doing some __good.'_)

They had ended up crying, both apologizing for not calling before.

_"It was my fault" Tina said abruptly, "You know, what happened that night." _Before Sara could argue, she added, _"Wait and hear me out, Sara. I know I was the victim, but I can't help feeling guilty. I knew something was going to happen."_ Tina took a deep breath before adding_, "It's so hard to tell you this. I'm afraid you won't respect me much, but you called me and… all I can do is tell you the truth, right? Ok. Well, this is it." _She said, pausing for a moment_. "Do you remember that night? Remember how I teased you and talked you into going to that party?" _she didn't wait for Sara's answer_, "Sara, I was simply trying to get rid of you. I needed a room and yours was the closest. Do you understand? I wasn't going to study or write a report; I was meeting someone." _she paused for a moment, _"If I told you the name, you wouldn't remember him; he was just another loser wasting time on campus and you didn't care much for those." She scoffed, "I didn't either, but he was cute and popular, so… I asked him to meet me. When I got to your room, he was already there… with another guy. I said, 'no way' but they weren't taking no for an answer, so they-" _she gulped_, "-they… you know." _she paused, taking several deep breaths_. "When it was over and they released me, I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. They were really freaked out by my reaction, you know? God, those idiots thought they were living some sort of Penthouse forum fantasy and didn't understand why I was screaming instead of asking for more!" _

_"God, Tina-"_

_"After they left, I washed every piece of bedding, remember? I was frantic; all I could think of was that if I cleaned up everything, I could pretend nothing had happened. I was sure I could get away with it, you know? Even my bruises could be explained away! All I had to do was to wash them off me and keep my mouth shut, and nobody would know. I was telling myself I'd be ok, when suddenly you were there and all my plans went to hell. You came back early." _She said, making it sound like an accusation, "Y_ou took a look at me and you knew. At that moment I realized I wouldn't get away with it, and I swear- I swear I was mad at you, Sara. You were telling me what to do as if it were so easy to admit that I'd been-" she swallowed hard, "See? It's still hard for me to admit it. And it's hard to admit this, but for a long time I hated you more than I hated those two men-"_

_"I'm… I'm sorry." Sara whispered._

_"Why? I was unfair to you; I was a coward-" _

_"I should have been there for you, no matter what. I'm sorry I wasn't."_

_"Oh, Sara, me, too," _Tina said,_ "I really needed a friend then. But there was nothing you could do; I was mad at you, and mostly I was ashamed of myself, for bringing it upon myself-"_

_"Tina, no, don't say that-"_

_"Ok, ok, I know. I know many things now; mostly, that you were right that night. It only took me some years and a few thousand dollars worth of therapy to accept it." _She chuckled_, "It would have been cheaper to listen to you, Sara."_ And then Tina had asked, _"Do you still want to be my friend after this?" _

The answer was a 'yes, of course' and more crying.

Now, Sara smiled a little as she remembered the rest of their conversation. Tina wanted to see her, but didn't dare visiting Las Vegas. (_'I'm recovering from several addictions and if I go there, I just know I'll start betting. But hey, if you come, my mom will be thrilled-_')

Sara had said yes without thinking about it, but she was sure she could pull it off. She'd ask Catherine for a couple of days off, and she'd take them by the time Grissom returned, so her absence wouldn't cause any trouble-

Brass interrupted her thoughts.

"Gruesome case, huh?" he said. "Grissom would have loved it"

"Uh, huh." She muttered.

"Because of the maggots." He added.

"Uh, huh."

"I still can't believe he left." He mused aloud and Sara winced at the word 'left'.

"It's just a vacation." Sara muttered, more for her own benefit.

"_Just_ a vacation?" he repeated, "Sara, this is _Grissom _we're talking about."

"So?" she asked with indifference, even though she knew perfectly well what Brass meant.

"'So?'" Brass repeated, gently mocking her. He kept smiling until she briefly smiled back.

"You're right." She relented. 'He's Grissom' she thought again. She was silent for a moment, and then she abruptly asked, "Why is he like this?"

"Hey, you're asking _me_?" he joked. "I'll be honest with you." He said more seriously, "I'm glad he went away. I've been worried about him."

"Why?" she frowned.

"He's been working too hard, lately. I know," he said, when he saw her expression; "You're going to say that he's always done that; but he's taking it to extremes, Sara. Did you know that he no longer raises cockroaches? He really acts as if the lab is his whole world and anything he can't have under his full control just doesn't exist." He glanced at Sara, but she didn't comment. "I do understand him," Brass conceded. "Up to a point at least." He was warming up to the subject; he rarely had a chance to talk about his friend, "Gil craves control, and the job provides him with that illusion. He likes being a supervisor and getting the lab to move along the way he wants to, but at the same time he's become isolated. You know, a while ago I asked what he did after work and he said, 'More work'." Brass shook his head, "Days later I got some tickets to a game and I told him, you know, let's go to a game, let's just get out of the building."

"What did he say?" she asked, staring straight ahead.

"He said he knew what I was trying to do." Brass smiled, "He asked me not to worry about him, and that he was ok. But at the last minute, he said something- and I felt he was talking more to himself than to me- he said that he was _afraid of stopping_."

Their gazes met briefly.

"Stopping?" Sara whispered. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure; but this man has barely any life outside the lab, Sara. I think he dreads going home and facing that fact. But hey," he added, "the good news is that for some reason, he's _stopped_. Last night he even sounded like the old Gil-"

"He called you?"

"Yeah." He said casually, and then he cringed. He wasn't supposed to mention this. Not to Sara, anyway. He knew what she was thinking. Gil hadn't called _her_. He debated whether to tell her everything. If he did, he'd piss her off but if he didn't …

Oh, what the hell.

"He wanted to know how you were doing." He said.

"Why would he ask _you_?" She frowned.

"Because I've been keeping an eye on you." He calmly replied, "He asked me to just before he left. After what happened the other night he was worried."

"He _what_?" she gaped, "How dare he? Damn it, Brass, is this how he sees me? As some little kid who needs someone watching over her?"

"Sara, he just cares about you." He said gently. He noticed Sara's skeptical expression and he added, "Hey, I'm serious. He just has a hard time showing it, but he does."

"But not enough-" she said curtly.

"Sara, come on." Brass pleaded, "You're the one person he really cares about."

Sara looked at Brass for a brief moment, wishing she could believe him. When she looked away, she realized that traffic was uncommonly light. They would get back to the lab sooner than expected, and she'd never get another chance to talk about this.

She didn't look at him when she spoke again.

"Did Grissom ever sleep with Lady Heather?"

It was fortunate that there were no car behind them because Brass nearly lost control of the car. He recovered quickly, though.

"Who told you about her?" he asked evasively.

Sara looked back at him.

"Is he still sleeping with her?" She asked. She noticed that Brass was at a loss for words and finally she had pity on him. "That's ok, Brass; he's your friend. Forget I asked."

Actually, Brass was debating with himself. This was Gil's personal life, the little he had allowed Brass to witness. Brass knew he owed his friend some loyalty, but Sara needed some answers too.

Brass silently drove on until he found a place to park the car. Once he did, he turned to Sara, looking at her in the eye.

"He didn't sleep with her." He said, simply. "He was working on a case that she was involved in too, and things just soured between them too soon."

"But he was attracted to her." She argued.

"He was _fascinated_ by her." Brass admitted, "As fascinated as he's by anything that's devious. You know him; he likes to know what moves people to be different. And before you ask me, no, it wasn't just the image that intrigued him. This woman… she's not someone from the strip who got lucky. She's really smart, educated-"

That actually made her feel worse.

"Do you think he still loves her?" she asked.

"Sara… I don't think he ever did."

"But she's beautiful." Sara said.

"_Tarantulas _are beautiful to him too." Brass said, "I'll be honest with you; I didn't understand the attraction." He scoffed, "Wait, that's not true. I did, at first. I thought it was just a middle age crisis. But when I confronted him about it, he just lost me."

"What did he say?"

"He said something like, _'she knows what I am and she doesn't mind.'_

Sara felt lost too. What could Heather possibly know that Sara didn't? Sara thought of the woman she had seen on the screen. Beautiful, mysterious, and _smart; _wise in the ways of the world - _an expert in manipulating men._ That thought made her smile bitterly. Grissom simply fell for it.

"I think Gil was intrigued by the world she inhabited." Brass mused aloud, "It was a fantasy world, but a very structured one… He learned all there was to it –which is what he does when he faces the unknown, right? He studied her the way he studies criminal types; you know, so he's ready when he meets them. He read all about submission and dominance and all that crap, and he learned her _rules_. He liked that: Here was the possibility of having a relationship where he knew what to expect, and what was expected of him. He was in control. And our Gil needs control, remember?" he paused but Sara's profile didn't reveal anything. "What neither of them realized," Brass added, "was that _he_ had a set of rules too. Or better said- one rule: _there's nothing more important than my job_. When the evidence pointed in her direction, he had no choice but to act upon it. She never forgave him."

"But he was willing to approach her." Sara whispered. That summed it all up in Sara's mind: He had done for Heather what he'd never do for her. "He pursued her." She said bitterly

"Sara-"

"I'm glad you told me this." She interrupted, glancing at him for the first time, "It was about time I saw things clearly, you know? We can go back to the lab now-"

"Hey, I'm not finished yet." He said gently.

"But I am," she said, forcing a smile.

Brass sighed.

"Sara, try to understand. He thought she would accept him unconditionally-"

"But I've always-" Sara blurted out, stopping before saying the rest.

"I know you do." Brass said, reaching out to pat her hand soothingly, "I know, Sara."

Sara flushed and looked away. 'I've always accepted him' she was going to say.

"It's stupid." She muttered.

"It's not stupid." He said gently. "Sara…" He paused, "I once asked him, you know? About his feelings for you." he waited until Sara reluctantly looked up at him, "I asked him why he didn't just admit that he had them." He added, "And he just sighed and shrugged, and said that you deserved better. That you should be with someone who shows you the world, not someone who would only keep you behind close doors-"

"That's very poetic," she said lightly, fighting hard not to reveal how much those words hurt.

"-He also said you should be with someone you could trust-" he added.

"I do trust him-" she argued

"Do you, Sara?" he said softly, "He sees you as someone who's been hurt and needs to open up about it. He says he tried to reach out to you a long time and you resisted. He told me he never tried again because he was afraid he'd lose you altogether, and because –in his own words- he's just like you and has no right to pry into your life. But he kept hoping that someone else might be able to help you."

Sara remembered. A few years back, he had asked her why some cases were so hard for her to take and she had practically told him to go bother someone else. Rather than angering her further, he had backed down… as he always did.

"But _I've _tried to approach him," she said bitterly. "Only I don't have a website-" she mumbled, "and I don't wear leather."

"Sara, try to understand," Brass said, smiling gently, "It's hard for him. All he really knows about life, he's learned from books. And there's no books or rules or websites on Sara Sidle. He's afraid-"

Sara sighed.

"Let's go back to the lab."

"Sara, think about it-"

"Thank you, Brass." She said with a brief smile. "Really. I needed to know all this. Now I have to go process this evidence."

"Ok, kid." He said. Before he dropped her at the CSI lab, he said, "I promise I won't be keeping an eye on you anymore if you promise to behave."

"I promise." She said, lifting her right hand.

She walked down the hallway, thinking of their conversation.

'What am I going to do now?' she asked herself. Her feelings for Grissom might be waning but she just couldn't stop loving him that fast. She was determined to look at the future with a critical eye, though. She could not go on like this. Not unless he did a move or something. After all, he _had_ approached this Heather woman –for whatever reasons – so he was capable of it. What had he done for Sara, except reject her every time?

'-and leave.' She muttered.

She reached for the keys in her pocket, and suddenly she had this image of Grissom, searching in his pockets for a travel brochure. Suddenly, she remembered something from Thursday night that her hung over brain had blocked then. Things he had said. That, and the pride that was evident as he talked about his travel plans.

'I'm determined to do this.' He had said. And 'I'm going to be a better role model.' He had said too.

Sara froze. Other lab workers looked at her curiously but she didn't notice. Her mind was focused on a sudden thought that was too fantastic to believe... but it was the truth. Wasn't it?

'He's stopped because of _me_.' she almost said it aloud.

She stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at nothing, enjoying the warmth that this thought brought to her heart.

TBC

Coming up:

TUESDAY: Catherine again. And Nick does something nice.


	6. Tuesday

Prologue.

Monday evening.

Sara went home after dropping her evidence. Now that she knew a little more about Grissom, she wanted to read his messages again; and she did - carefully, as if looking for hidden messages. There _were_ little hints of personal stuff, but nothing major.

_"I had forgotten the thrill of traveling for pleasure."_ He'd said at one point. And '_I'm becoming quite good at diving_.'

He talked extensively about the feeding of caterpillars (_'the babies'_) and about the pests that were threatening them. He also talked about the people working at the butterfly reserve, José, Nora, and Roberto. _"They don't have much money, but they know how to improvise. It's hard, though; people don't think insects need preservation; they see them as pests." _

He talked of people he talked to in the market, _"We get along fine. Between my bad Spanish and their bad English, we manage. I've been trying to learn their native tongue but without success - unless you count their laughs as a success."_

He had captioned each picture he included.

"_This woman has seven (yes, seven!) kids, and they all work at the market-" "This old man makes the most beautiful wood cuttings-_" _"See this guy? He's a painter. His son was a painter too but he was killed by a 'marero' (that's what they call the local gang members)" _"_This is Dr. Schmidt; he came from Germany on vacation and decided to retire here." "Look at that sunset-"_

And so on, and so on. And suddenly she understood what he was doing. He was _sharing_ his vacation with her. There was a moment when she even felt as if she were walking beside him, meeting those people and admiring the landscape.

She was smiling faintly by the time she opened the third message. He continued telling her of the caterpillars they were raising in potted plants, _"We cover them with a muslin sleeve, for protection. Caterpillars will eat just about anything, but to be healthy they need the right food; one of my tasks is to get them fresh oak leaves and"_ He stopped this explanation and wrote, _"I'm boring you, right? Here I've been going on and on about butterflies and caterpillars, and you don't care much for those. Sorry. _

_"I've been babbling, I know. I was supposed to convince you that taking time off is a good thing to do, and I've been doing it badly. You must think that I've simply traded one job for another. But there's a difference. Here, I'm helping create life._

_"This vacation has done wonders for me, Sara. Last night - for the first time in a long time - I didn't have any nightmares; no cold sweats- no insomnia. Of course, the fact that I haven't seen a dead body lately helps. I'm as far as I can be from Las Vegas and my job as a CSI. But I believe I'm getting some perspective on things, and I'm learning to enjoy being by myself again." _Sara sighed when she read this last part, but continued reading.

_"Am I going to be a better person by the time I return? I think so. I'll try to be more open to changes. I'll try to talk. _

_"Now, I know you're swamped with work – and it's my fault - but I have the feeling that there's something else that's keeping you from saying 'hi'. I wish you'd tell me what it is. Please, do. Remember what you once said: It's easier to write things than saying them face to face. Drop a line or two. I promise I'll understand. And listen-_

_I know that our lives will change in these two weeks. No doubt about it. It had to happen. No matter what, I want yours to change for the better."_

_"Anyway, here's a picture I took today…"_

He ended his message with:

_PS. I forgot to tell you that kids here call me 'el gringo que juega con arañas'. Want to know what that means? Ask me."_

He had not sent any more messages after that.

Sara was standing by the window, glancing now and then at her lap top. She had tried to send a reply to Grissom, but had deleted the first line so many times, she finally stopped trying. Instead she did some laundry, cleaned up the living room, and ate some fruit. Part of her problem was that his messages frustrated her. All she needed to hear from him was that he missed her. Instead he wrote about changes - not as something to relish, but as something to be resigned about.

The only clear message was that he wanted her to write. All right; she would. She wanted to. She just froze every time she started to type. She couldn't get pass the '_hey_' part. Hey, _what_?

Sara reluctantly sat back at her desk, but this time she picked up pen and paper to compose a 'to do" list. She had promised to visit Tina, and she needed to make sure her work wouldn't suffer if she went away. She wrote:

1. Finish Paperwork

2. Filing

3. Court schedules-

A familiar beep interrupted her and she immediately looked at her lap top. The words 'YOU'VE GOT MAIL' appeared on the screen and she hurriedly ID the sender: jjavila.cafesantiago.gt.

"Santiago," she read aloud, "That's one of the villages around Lake Atitlàn." It was from him.

_"I've come to terms with the fact that you're not going to write." _he wrote, "_Finally."_

_"Up until this morning I'd been pestering the hotel manager with questions about their internet service. I was sure there was something wrong with it, since I wasn't getting any messages – I thought you'd write daily, and ask me questions about this place and the people I work with-_

_But you didn't. _

_"I did think something like this might happen. When I was making arrangements for this trip, I had the feeling that things would change, and I wouldn't be able to cope. _

_"I was afraid that life in Las Vegas would go on, while mine simply stopped. Like a modern day Rip Van Winkle, I'd go away for only two weeks and then return to find that:_

_Catherine has done a better job than me and is keeping it; _

_Entomology has been outlawed._

_The evidence lies all the time._

_There's no place in your heart for me anymore._

_You're married and have five kids-_

_Ok, ok; I know it won't be like that. But things ARE changing already, aren't they? I'm out of your sight, out of your mind… and out of your heart. It seems that as soon as I stopped being the all-knowing CSI, you lost all interest. Or maybe you've simply smarted up._

_"Still, I'm glad I did this. I needed to know if I could survive without the safety net that the lab has become. I've been using other people's misfortunes to forget my own, Sara. I've been hiding from myself. I admit that. It's easy. There are other things that are not that easy to admit. Like the fact that the only thing that keeps me human is the dream… a treasured dream that I've kept in the back of my mind –you and me. But it's only a dream. _

_"Brass says you're doing ok; he says you're not drinking, and God, I'm so grateful for that. No matter what happens, it'll be ok as long as you're healing. Please, please heal._

_"I keep telling myself that I did the right thing by coming here and setting this chain of events in motion. Out of sight…you won't need me anymore. And I'll have to accept it. I will. But it's hard because- _

_"Why can't I just say it? It should be easy. I'm writing, after all; I can press delete any time I want. _

_"I miss you._

_"There. Not hard at all. _

_"As for what happened today- _

_"It's not a big deal and I've tried to put it out of my mind but I can't. I wanted so much to _talk_ about it, but I don't want to burden my travel companions, so I'll just write about it: Today I was at the reserve and a butterfly came fluttering about; one of the newborns. We all stopped what we were doing – I think we even stopped breathing. They're just so fragile, any harsh movement from us might damage them. We simply watched, expecting it to fly away at any minute. But it didn't. It fluttered straight to me and it brushed my cheek._

_"It's not a big deal, as I said. My beard must have some pollen on it, and that's what attracted her to me. But I couldn't help thinking that I'd been kissed by a butterfly. It sounds sweet, but it's not. It's painful. I saw it as a symbol of my life: I'd been touched by this beautiful creature, but I couldn't reach for her because I knew I'd hurt her. And while José kept babbling nonsense about me having good luck in love from now on, all I could think of was you and the fact that you were once so close and I brushed you away, and now that I've figure it out, it's late and"_

Sara had been holding her breath as she read the last paragraphs. She couldn't believe he had opened up like this. But when she reached the end of the message, she exhaled in frustration. It ended too abruptly.

She stared at the screen, willing it to produce the rest of his message….but nothing happened. She tried to send a response, ('_I didn't get the entire message, please send again'_) but all she got was a notice that jjavila.cafesantiago.gt was temporarily out of reach.

Sara panicked. She had read a little about Guatemala these past two days and learned that it was a country plagued by military coups and violence, and –God forbid- earthquakes. Thinking the worst had happened, she frantically looked for the travel brochure she had shoved under her phone book.

The receptionist at Grissom's hotel patiently endured her questions and told her that no, Dr. Grissom wasn't in; no, there had been no volcanic activity in recent months; and no, there had been no military coups in years; in fact Guatemala was quite a peaceful paradise, 'the land of the eternal spring', etc., and would she like to visit their website in case she wanted to-?

Sara quickly interrupted him and after some expert questioning she got him to tell that Grissom had taken a little tour to Santiago and would be returning tomorrow.

Sara thanked the man and hung up, feeling a mixture of elation and defeat.

And damn! It was getting late and she had to go to work.

* * *

TUESDAY

_I miss you. I've figured it out _

Sara was at the conference room, adding three items to her 'to do' list: 1. 'talk to Grissom', 2. 'talk to Catherine', and 3. 'Greg's party'. She had gaped when Greg told her he'd be picking her up at five-thirty that afternoon. She had completely forgotten about the party, but had the good sense not to tell him so. She had merely smiled and assured him she'd be ready. She would too. She hoped. As long as Sidle's law didn't rear its head today, she'd be fine.

As for the other two items, talking to Grissom was out of the question, so she concentrated on her second task. She had prepared two approaches: The dignified one: _'Catherine, I need to take a few days off. My work is up-to-date as you can see-'_; and the whiny one: '_I haven't taken a vacation in two years_-'.

To her chagrin, Catherine had kept her door closed all night.

Frustrated by this, towards the end of the shift she had gone down to the morgue for a cup of Dr. Robbins' fine coffee. She loved to hear him talk about the old days, when autopsies were done with 'stone-age tools', as he put it.

They were talking when Catherine entered the morgue.

"Hey Doc," she greeted, "Sara, I've been looking for you." She said, a little pissed off; before Sara could say anything, she added, "Listen, I'm taking you all to lunch today. I have a reservation at Martino's."

"What?" Sara frowned, "Why?"

"No reason at all," Catherine said, "We'll simply eat and talk about our current cases. We might take the chance to talk about ourselves too." she paused to see if Sara understood. "You know. Personal stuff."

"Oh." Sara mumbled, inwardly dreading it already.

Catherine smiled at Robbins.

"You can come along too, Doc."

"Thank you, Catherine; I can't." Said Robbins, "I promised my wife to take her shopping."

"Good for you." She smiled. She turned to the younger woman, "So, Sara? Twelve-thirty, all right?" she said pointedly and walked away.

"We eat lunch together all the time." Sara muttered after a moment.

"Ah, but do you talk about personal stuff?" Robbins said teasingly. He smiled widely when he saw Sara's expression, "You and I are more used to Gil's approach to the job, aren't we, Sara? Personal stuff takes a step back when he's here."

Sara shrugged and sipped her coffee.

"I think Catherine's smarter than Gil." Robbins said after a moment.

"Is she?" she frowned.

"Yes. She has the right attitude for the job. You see, a supervisor has to deal with the sheriff and the press; it's practically a politician's job and Gil's bad at it. He'd rather examine a stinking body than have lunch with the sheriff- or us. He pisses off the people he should be in good terms with."

"I suppose," Sara muttered.

"Then there's the budget-" he added, thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Grissom gets paid according to his qualifications. …" he shrugged, "You've seen all those diplomas, haven't you? One day the sheriff will realize that is cheaper to pay someone else for the job of supervisor. Someone with less qualifications, but more willing to play the game."

Sara looked at her empty cup of coffee. Poor Grissom. No wonder he didn't like the idea of leaving for so long.

"He wouldn't be replaced that easily-" She said with conviction.

"Of course not." He said kindly. After a moment of silence, Robbins got up with some difficulty and said, "Go home and rest. Oh, and _enjoy _lunch."

Sara looked up and noticed the gleam in Robbins' eyes. He didn't care much for formal lunches either. She smiled back.

She went home in a hurry.

* * *

'YOU'VE GOT MAIL'

Yes! She almost shouted when she saw the little message. And yes, it was from his hotel.

Sara quickly opened the file and read:

_Sara._

_Remember that you once told me that it was easier to say it in an e-mail than to say it in person? Well, some people can't even manage that. _

_I learned that yesterday, at a coffee shop/chat room in Santiago. There was a guy there who kept writing messages only to delete them afterwards. He wrote and deleted, over and over. He wrote pages, Sara; he was inspired. He was really pouring his heart out because he knew he would not send any of those messages. They were too personal, you see. Letting anybody read them would have been like…like being naked in public. Worse perhaps, since it wouldn't be his body out there in the open, but his thoughts._

_"He was happy while he wrote, though. It was like doing therapy without having to talk to a shrink. _

_"And then he did something incredibly stupid - he hit 'send' instead of 'delete'. _

_"You should have seen him, Sara. He lost his head. Instead of calmly retrieving the message, he pushed his chair back - horrified at what he had done - and accidentally unplugged something that apparently held the whole room together. Can you believe it? Every other computer and every light in the room went out. (No wonder it cost only $0.50 an hour, cappuccino included; the place is crumbling down). When the owner appeared, he simply said 'Oh, f-, not again' and told our hapless guy that it would take a while to get things going again. _

_It took hours. By the time he tried to retrieve the message, it was too late, so- _

_To cut this story short, all I can say is that I can't believe I pressed 'Send' instead of 'Delete.' I'm so sorry, Sara. _

Sara gaped at this message.

_"'I'm so sorry'."_ she read aloud. "Sorry for what, for God's sake?" she asked. "Damn it, Grissom." She hissed angrily, "You're taking back what you said, aren't you-"

She read his message again, growing angry at him for making fun of his own actions. Why couldn't he simply say something and leave it at that?

She shook her head in disappointment.

"Fine." She muttered, reaching down to take off her shoes. "Be sorry, I don't care anymore." She wasn't going to waste a single minute feeling sorry for herself or feeling angry at Grissom. Right now she needed a shower and a nap -and mostly, she needed to stop thinking about him.

Sara lay in bed, counting the cracks on the ceiling. This had always helped her fall asleep, but not today. She was nervous; she had an eventful day waiting for her: Lunch with her supervisor – _that _made her cringe; dinner with Greg- _that_ made her smile a little. She couldn't wait to see the look on Greg's face when he saw her dress – Whoa. She blinked. _She_ was looking forward to go to a party?!

Maybe Grissom was right. Things _were_ changing in his absence.

_'Poor Grissom'_ she thought, _'He must be mortified right now. He must feel so… so naked.'_

She felt a pang of regret. Maybe she had been unfair to him. He was trying, after all. He had done all this with the best of intentions...and he'd done it for her. As for the rest… He was simply being _Grissom. _Mysterious and secretive. Enigmatic. Infuriating. Courageous.

And after all, she thought reluctantly, wasn't that precisely why she fell in love with him? Because he was so different?

"Oh, damn," she muttered. She couldn't stay mad at him.

She turned and hugged her other pillow. Maybe there was no mystery to Grissom. He was clearly wary of relationships. Perhaps he knew himself so well that he knew what a relationship with him would be like and he wanted to spare people's feelings. Maybe he sucked at the dating game and knew it. He was probably clueless about courtship rituals and didn't understand why women expected roses on Valentine's Day or dinner on their anniversary. She smiled, as she imagined what he did on his dates: He probably took them to ride roller coasters or to dusty museums. And then he wondered why women didn't go twice with him-

She closed her eyes. She didn't have a right to mock Grissom. _She_ didn't understand courtship rituals either. She had tried, when she dated Hank - and maybe she would still be trying, if things had gone differently- but frankly, she was terrible at it. She was too direct; she lacked subtlety and couldn't flirt to save her life-

And _she _didn't understand why anyone would want roses at Valentine's Day either –what a waste. And dinners were nice, but sometimes they felt so artificial, and so forced-

And then she remembered that she had once asked Grissom to dinner- _to dinner. _She frowned.

She had acted out a courtship ritual… and she had expected Grissom -someone who didn't get you flowers or dinner, but a plant and a book- to accept.

She cringed. Suddenly she visualized what that dinner would have been like: They would have sat and tried to act a part, like actors in a play they hadn't rehearsed for. They would have done everything but be themselves!

"And we're two of a kind." She said aloud. And then she smiled.

Sara bounced out of bed and marched into the living room.

"You miss me, Gil Grissom." She said as she resolutely punched 'reply'. "You said it and I won't let you take it back. I have all this written _evidence _backing me up."

She wrote,

_"Dear Grissom:_

_I want to write to you but right now I'm just too busy. I will, though. I promise. Meanwhile, keep telling me about your butterflies and scuba diving. And send me more pictures. Let me see if you're getting a tan, too."_

_PD: What does 'el gringo que juega con arañas' mean?_

* * *

"And that's my goal now." Warrick said as he dug into his cassata. "I want to try writing my own songs."

"Very nice, Warrick," said Catherine approvingly.

Lunch at Martino's had been a nice idea, thought Warrick. They had talked about their pending cases while eating good food. And even though Greg had already left - to pick up some friends at the airport- Catherine, Sara, and Nick were still there.

All through lunch, he had noticed that Sara kept glancing at the files beside her plate. Warrick knew what she had there; her pending cases, her 'to do' list, and some application forms. He had already promised to take care of her court appearances and she had gratefully checked those off; but she still hadn't talked to Catherine and was nervous about it.

Warrick knew very well what the problem was: Sara just didn't like to ask for favors.

"Hey Sara." Nick mumbled, glancing over at the bar area "Those two guys are checking you out."

Sara didn't react, but Catherine glanced around. There _were_ two guys looking in their direction but they were actually looking at _her; _one of them winked and lifted his glass in a silent toast. Catherine smiled and glanced at Nick.

"It's true, Sara," Catherine said with a smirk, "They are checking you out."

Warrick noticed the look that passed between Catherine and Nick. Warrick shook his head slightly. He hated it when these two acted as if they were still in high school. He had bad memories from that time, when he was a skinny kid with bulging eyes and saw the blond cheerleaders and the jocks making fun of less popular kids, and getting away with it simply because they were good looking-

Sara didn't seem to mind this time. She simply ate her desert.

"Come on, Sara." coaxed Nick. "You should be more open, you know."

Sara shot him an unfriendly glance and didn't say anything.

"Sara," Catherine said aloud, to get her attention, "What about you?"

Sara looked up in confusion.

"What?"

"Your goals." Catherine said, "We would like to know about them."

"Oh." Sara looked around the table. They had stopped eating to look at her. "Oh. Well. Hum." '_My goal is to talk to Grissom. _' she thought, '_Then I want to strangle him for the whole Lady Heather thing-' _"My goal…" she said aloud, "Hum, my goal is to do my job well, I guess-" She answered, "To learn-"

"But what about your personal goals?" Catherine said, "You must have some."

"I do." She replied reluctantly, "Like I said, I like to learn-"

"What about trying to have some _fun_ for a change." Muttered Nick.

"I always have fun." Sara replied sarcastically

"I mean _fun,_ Sara." Nick replied, glancing up, "You know- the kind that involves Jazz, a bottle of wine, and sweaty sheets-"

Warrick winced at Nick's words. After what Sara had told him on Sunday, he hoped Nick wouldn't tell one of those 'roll in the hay' jokes of his. Sara hated them. They always reminded her of Tina's last words ('have fun, have sex') on that fateful night, years ago.

'_If Nick knew what his jokes mean to me he'd be horrified,' _Sara had told Warrick, _'He's not a mean person. But he pisses me off anyway_.'

Sara didn't look pissed off right now; she simply stared at Nick.

"So, what you're saying is that I ought to pick up some guys and have fun-"

"Well-"

"-because I'm sexually frustrated-" she finished.

"Hum. Well." Nick was flustered. "You make it sound like-"

"It's what _you_ said, Nick." She interrupted placidly.

"Sara, all I'm saying is that you keep your gaze down while life passes you by," he explained, "You should do something about it."

Warrick expected to see Sara throw a 'look' at Nick, but she seemed pretty calm.

"I will, one of these days," she said evasively.

"'_One of these days'_ sounds like '_never'_," noticed Catherine. "Come on. Do you want to be like Grissom and reach fifty with no life of your own?"

Sara had to take a deep breath not to show her anger. She didn't think it was fair to discuss Grissom like this.

"And what should I do?" she asked, "go over that table and talk to those guys?"

"Sure," said Catherine, "Why not? Get a date. After all, you have a new dress in your closet. You don't want it to turn into moth food, do you? "

"Sara has a dress?" asked Nick.

"Yes, Nick, I have one." Sara glared. "Why?"

Warrick had had enough of this conversation.

"You know," he said deliberately, "I think what Sara needs is to make a trip and visit her family and her friends-"

Sara cringed. She hadn't planned on bringing the matter _in public_, so to speak.

"Hey, that's a good idea-" Catherine said, "I mean, you _do_ have friends, right?"

"Actually-" Sara cleared her throat, "I was thinking-"

"Forget friends." Nick interrupted, "She should go on a cruise -"

"Oooh, a cruise." Nodded Catherine, "Aruba, Jamaica -"

"_Bermuda, Bahamas,_ _Come on pretty mama_," sang Nick.

"I couldn't do that." Sara said quickly, "My cases-"

"Hey, your life is important too." Nick interrupted, "You need to take risks- Look at Grissom. Even he realized he needed some time off -"

"Bad example." interrupted Catherine, "He's not on some beach getting a tan, Nick; he's bound to be in some dusty lab doing some investigation or reading something boring-"

_'If you only knew'_ Sara thought with some angry satisfaction. '_your jaw would drop-'_ "

She listened as her colleagues discussed Grissom as if they knew him… and suddenly, she decided not to waste the chance that Warrick had given her.

"I can't just _go_ on a cruise." She said, firmly, "They last, what – a week?-" she looked at Catherine, "Would you let me go a whole week?"

"Why not?" Catherine said, knowing perfectly well that Sara would never take a weekend off, let alone a whole week.

"Really?" Sara challenged, "What about giving me two weeks off?" Sara challenged, "Would you do that?"

"Sara," Catherine said patiently, "you have enough vacation time to go away on three cruises."

"All right," Sara said with a faint smile, "You're on."

Catherine frowned as Sara shuffled some papers and wrote something on a couple of forms. She couldn't see that Sara was changing a number 3 into a 13. Now her requests for time off read "13 days".

"Here." Sara said, handing the file to her Supervisor.

"What is this?"

"Forms." Sara said cheerfully, "I filled them out today. I'm taking thirteen days off, starting the day after tomorrow. You'll authorize them, won't you?"

"What?" Catherine stared at Sara.

"I'm taking some time off, Catherine." Sara said patiently, barely managing to contain her smile. "I'm following your advice," She added.

"But… but-" Catherine gaped.

In the silence that followed, Warrick snorted… and then chuckled openly. Catherine looked at him, still unsure of what to say or do. Nick's reaction was quicker.

"Sara?" he said, "Are you really-?" he didn't finish; he only waved his hand in the air.

"Yes, Nick. I am really" and she did the same little move in the air, "I'm taking some time off."

"Ok." He said, letting the idea sink in, "Ok. Hum. That's- Congratulations."

"I know you'll have to handle more cases," Sara said sheepishly.

"He'll be happy to cooperate, Sara." Warrick said. "You too, right Catherine?"

"What?" Catherine looked at Warrick. "Oh." She paused, "Yes. Yes, of course."

Sara smiled to herself. _Let's see if Catherine has time for the sheriff now that she'll have to work as hard as Grissom_, she thought.

"Hey, Sara?" Nick said, "I'm glad." He said honestly, "And listen: I'll do my part, Ok? I'll finish any paperwork you have- whatever. Ok.?"

Sara looked at him for a moment. She hadn't expected this. She smiled and leant to peck him lightly on the cheek.

"Ok. Thanks." She looked at her colleagues, "Thank you, everybody. Now-" she picked up her files and pushed her chair back, "I've got to go. I need to get ready for a party."

She didn't turn but she knew they were gaping at her.

TBC

Coming soon:

SEVENTH DAY: Grissom again.


	7. Thursday again

Well, this is it, finally. Thank you for your kind reviews and for sticking to the end!

Sorry it took me so long, but I really agonized over each line that went into the story.

* * *

Prologue 

Sara glanced at Grissom's message. It was brief and cautious, just as hers had been. Since she had not acknowledged his other two messages - the one he sent by accident and the one with the apology – he too, was pretending they didn't exist.

_"As for what 'El gringo que juega…' means: Some kids call me 'the gringo who plays with spiders'."_ He wrote, _"It all started one day at the park - I was sitting there waiting for a tour guide, and suddenly this spider fell on me. I was bored, so I just let it walk all over me. By the time the guide came, the kids –and some adults- were making questions about spiders, and suddenly I became the new attraction in town." _

He had gone back to the formal tone of his first messages; he told her of second-hand bookstores and of a charity ball he had to attend, but little else. He _had _sent a picture of himself, but there was something missing in it. His smile.

"Oh, Grissom." She sighed. "You're closing up again."

After a moment, she logged off. She unplugged her lap top and everything else in her home – standard precautions since she was leaving for more than a week.

The thought really gave her some shivers.

She took a last look around, telling herself that she was ready for this. She had booked flights and had already paid most of her expenses: the package deal at a spa was a bit expensive, but she it would be a nice surprise for Tina and Tina's mother.

As for the rest of her plans…

She was ready to face anything…

THURSDAY (again)

_Sara was strolling down the beach; she smiled, enjoying the feel of the golden sand under her feet and the kiss of the sun on her face. She glanced around now and then, but without concern; she knew Grissom was there and it was only a matter of time before she found him. _

_She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air was so pure she felt lightheaded. Or was it the feeling of anticipation? She smiled to herself. Grissom was going to be so thrilled when he saw her-_

_That thought compelled her to look over at the next pier. There were people fishing and taking pictures there, but she didn't recognize Grissom. It was so hard to be sure though; the sun was shining so brightly… and it was getting hot…so hot-_

_And the water looked enticing._

_Sara daintily walked into the water. It was cool… it felt delicious… She closed her eyes and sighed. She felt so free, all of a sudden; she couldn't help it, she slowly unbuttoned her sundress and let the tide take it off her. _

_"Oh, my God!" a woman screamed, "Sara, how could you?"_

_Sara blinked, as if waking up from a dream. She turned and saw Catherine standing a few feet away. The older woman was pointing at something on Sara's chest._

_"A mustard colored bikini, Sara? Are you crazy?"_

_And Sara was utterly puzzled as she looked down at herself. How come? She didn't have any mustard bikinis! She didn't have any bikinis, for that matter. The only swimsuit she owned was blue and it was a one-piece that she had bought when she moved to San Francisco- _

_"Sara?"_

_Sara turned. __Grissom was standing there; he was staring at her bikini too._

_"I prefer black leather-" he mumbled_

_"Gringapana!" screamed Catherine, poking her on the shoulder, "Ya llegamos!"_

_"Don't poke me!" Sara mumbled, trying to protect her shoulder, "Stop it!" _

"Ya llegamos!" someone said clearly; only this time it wasn't Catherine; it was a man. "Gringapana!"

"What-" Sara mumbled, and this time the sound of her own voice woke her up. Someone was still poking at her shoulder and frankly, it was pissing her off. Indignantly, she opened her eyes and blinked. A young Latino man was looking at her with a big smile.

"Ya llegamos a Pana!" He said.

With a sinking feeling, Sara realized she had fallen asleep.

She couldn't believe it! She had been warned of the dangers of traveling solo in Guatemala; she had been told to be alert all the time, to keep an eye on her luggage, and mostly, to never, never, ever fall asleep while traveling -unless she wanted to wake up anywhere but at the village she was going to. And here she was, sleeping like a baby in this smelly bus-

"Pana?" She asked.

"Si, ya llegamos!" he said, beckoning at her to follow him. Sara noticed that everybody else in the bus was looking at her, waiting. She suddenly recalled that the fastest one got off the bus, the fastest it continued its trip; she hurriedly followed the guy out. It wasn't easy; her limbs were cramped after being squeezed in that bus for ours.

Outside the sun was blinding.

The young man brought her backpack down and put it in front of her.

"Gracias, señor." She mumbled, taking it from him. He turned his back on her to help some local men and women boarding the bus. He took their belongings – huge boxes filled with fruit or vegetables and even live animals – and he easily lifted them and secured them on top of the bus.

"Adiós, Gringapana!" the guy called out as the bus left.

_Gringapana_. Sara shook her head. It was amazing; in only a few hours she had become so used to being called Gringapana, she had to remind herself she was Sara Sidle.

Grissom would laugh when he heard the story of how she got her nickname.

Of course, first she would have to tell him about Mrs. and Mr Gonzalez.

Sara had to admit she'd been lucky. When she went to the travel agency and mentioned that she didn't speak any Spanish, the woman in charge had arranged for her to travel with a couple that was returning to Guatemala. Mr. and Mrs. González had taken her under their wing from the start, giving her some valuable advice. The downside was that these deeply religious people kept asking her questions about her own religious beliefs, her job, and her goals in life. Sara had been evasive, mostly letting them do the talking. Still, they had artfully got her to confess that she was going to visit a male friend in Pana.

"Are you going to marry this young man?" asked Mrs. González.

Sara had only smiled. She didn't want to disappoint Mrs. González by telling her that Grissom wasn't that young, or that she didn't think she'd ever get married.

"We'll see." She said and that was enough for Mrs. Gonzalez, who insisted on exchanging addresses and phone numbers. She wanted to see pictures of the wedding, she said. She loved it when people did the right thing.

Mr. and Mrs. González did a lot for her after landing too. They had helped her pass through Customs, they had given her some advice for her trip, and finally, they had taken her to the bus station. There, Mrs. Gonzalez had asked the guys in charge to take care of the 'gringa', who didn't speak Spanish, but needed to go to Pana.

And that's how it happened; what had begun as 'la gringa que va para Pana' (the gringa who's going to Pana) was turned into 'gringa va a Pana' and finally into 'Gringapana'.

Sara stretched a little and looked around. She hoped she really was in Panajachel. There was no sign; no "You're entering Panajachel" in big neon letters, and –now that she thought about it- no lake. _Where_ was the lake?

'If you hadn't fallen asleep you would have seen it.' She muttered. She had been told that Panajachel was at the bottom of a mountain and that you could have a breathtaking view of the lake as your bus crept down. Well, she had missed it this time.

She searched in her pockets for the map that Mr. González had drawn for her. He had kindly included the location of a couple of hotels she might like to try.

Sara liked her room. It was clean and airy, and the bedding was white and spotless –well, as spotless as it could be, considering it was a hotel; if she took it upon herself to examine each sheet closely, she might not like it as much-

"Stop it." She muttered.

She looked wistfully at her bed; she really needed some rest. On the other hand, she knew that if she took a nap, she'd simply pass out and wake up tomorrow and lose half a day.

She opened her only window instead and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was lined with flowerpots of different shapes and sizes, all containing carnations in full bloom. She loved it. It was like having her own private garden.

From her window she had a full view of Santander Street. She knew that if she walked a straight line, she would get to the lake. From here she could even see the top of the volcano –the one that appeared on the website and on all the postcards, but little else. Still... she was just a few blocks away from the lake… and from Grissom's hotel.

She had a sudden urge to run down the stairs and go searching for him, but she forced herself to hold back. She wanted to do things calmly and savor every moment. Sara went back to her room and took a last look at herself in the full length mirror. She had changed into an old denim skirt, a white t-shirt, and sandals. She thought she looked ok. … And before she started finding little faults, she grabbed her keys and her shoulder bag with determination. She checked the contents of her bag: her handy phrase book, a picture of Grissom, and - a couple of condoms. Hey, she could only hope-

And then she rushed down the stairs.

Grissom had mentioned this street in his e-mails. Santander Street had the best boutiques in town, plus colorful open stalls on the sidewalks. Grissom loved these. There was a great variety of merchandise sold in those- From black market CDs and DVDs, to second-hand books, handmade clothing, and jewelry. But it was the local merchandise that really caught her attention. She began to wonder whether she should have brought more money. There was some stuff that she might like to buy for the guys back at CSI: t-shirts for Nick and Warrick; a jade necklace that would look great on Catherine…an onyx paperweight for Brass… a wood sculpture for Greg… some gorgeous, colorful clothes that she might like to buy for herself... And tons of things for Grissom.

The next block on the street was darker, due to the trees that lined it side by side. She was too distracted to really notice that, until she walked past it and found herself under the glare of the sun. She was also hit by her first view of the lake. She was speechless. For the first time she understood what Grissom meant when he wrote that he spent hours just looking at the lake.

"Oh, wow." She muttered reverently.

It was more beautiful than in the pictures, because she had a wide view of it, and she could appreciate the different blues and greens in the water and the mountains. She liked the fact that there were just a few canoes floating here and there, while the bigger boats were tied to the piers. It looked peaceful; just what she needed.

But when she started walking towards the nearest pier, she got a big, nasty surprise: Instead of sand, she stepped on gravel. She winced. Any fantasies she might have had about running on golden sand to meet Grissom went down the drain. She'd have trouble walking with open sandals, let alone running…But on the other hand, her combat boots would come in handy.

She looked around. Grissom's hotel was hard to miss; it was the biggest building on the beach. She started walking towards it, but before she reached it, she noticed someone familiar sitting under an open umbrella. It was the lady who, according to Grissom, had seven kids. Sara smiled when she noticed that the lady sold tiny wood sculptures of insects. Surely Grissom had spent some time talking to her.

"Perdone." Sara said, showing her Grissom's picture, "Conoce este hombre?" ("Excuse me, do you know this man?")

The woman squinted at the picture and smiled.

"Dr. Grissom."

"Si." Sara nodded, "Sabe dónde está?" ("Do you know where he is?")

"Se está bañando." the woman, said pointing to the far end of the beach, "Allá."

"Bañando?" Sara repeated, while frantically looking up the word in her book. She smiled widely, as she understood what the woman meant. "Oh, he's swimming!"

The woman nodded and Sara waved goodbye.

Sara walked, filled with determination.

"I'm coming, Grissom." She said aloud.

Sara didn't recognize him at first. She had been searching for him among the few swimmers than were close to the shore; she hadn't expect him to be so far into the lake. It wasn't until he was wading out of the water that Sara realized it was him. She impulsively waved but he didn't notice it; he seemed to be deep in thought. Or maybe he was simply intrigued by something in the water; he kept picking up things and putting them in his pockets. Sara smiled widely. His clothes - khaki cut off pants and a white t-shirt –were wet and clinging to his skin. She cursed herself for not bringing her camera! Nobody would believe Grissom had stripped down like this.

Sara decided to enjoy the view while it lasted. She took off her sandals and carefully waded into the water until it reached her hips. She felt something brushing against her leg and she looked down: little fish were darting around her legs.

"Oh, great." she muttered. She cringed. She didn't want him to notice her just yet. He didn't hear, though. He was distracted. He soon turned his attention towards the landscape in front of him. She wondered what it was that had got his full attention- whether it was the lake, or the volcano or the mountains, or the cloudless sky-

"What is it, Grissom?" she whispered.

She opened her mouth, only to realize that she didn't know what to say. Her mind was a blank; of all the speeches that she had prepared, not a single word remained.

The only thing she knew for certain was that he'd be mortified when he realized she had been staring at his-

"Nice tushy!" She called out impulsively.

Grissom didn't stir. Sara couldn't know this, but he was simply enjoying the sun. He usually closed his eyes and took a few minutes to meditate.

Sara took another couple of steps towards him. She was smiling again- her face would hurt tomorrow if she kept this up– she was so happy. They were so close, finally- If she stretched her arm, and if he turned and stretched his own arm back, they might touch-

"Hey." She said aloud.

Grissom frowned. He usually didn't pay much attention to people swimming around, but that voice sounded like - but no, it couldn't be; he missed her so much he was starting to imagine things. Still, he was curious enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"Sara?" he exclaimed, and he turned around so abruptly that he lost his balance and landed hard on his butt.

"Oh, my God." She cried, "Are you ok?"

"No." he glared, and Sara burst out laughing.

Grissom stared at her in disbelief. First she ambushed him and now she laughed at him? He had the vague feeling that he should be angry, but he was too busy looking at every inch of her face and every inch of her body –hungrily, as if he hadn't seen a woman in a very long time. For a brief moment he wondered if he was simply dreaming- Hell, no; he wasn't. The sting of gravel digging into his butt was proof enough that he was awake.

Sara was really here, just a few feet away. And she was smiling.

"I'd never seen you laugh so hard." he said dryly

"I'd never been so happy." She replied.

He smiled faintly at her. He noticed that she wasn't wearing any make up, and that her freckles stood out in her pale skin, as did the natural rose of her lips. She looked pretty and healthy and _happy_; the exact opposite of what she had looked like a week ago in Las Vegas.

"You came." he said softly. He was happy to see her, yet he didn't know how to tell her so. He was scared of saying the wrong thing. "I never expected to see you so soon." He added.

That's not what she had hoped to hear, but she bravely kept her smile frozen on her face.

"I'm glad you're here-" He added, and he started to get up… until he remembered what he was wearing. He discreetly settled back, acting as if sitting on gravel was something he did all the time. "You look great." He said instead.

"Thank you," She said, and she waded closer to him–not as seductively as she wanted, she was in the water, after all- and she softly added, "You too."

Grissom winced.

"I'm not in good shape." He said, but he wasn't apologizing; he was merely stating a fact.

"Oh, I don't think so, Grissom. Your arms look pretty strong." She said deliberately, "They look like the kind I'd love to have around me."

Sara loved seeing the effect that her words had on him. His face was so expressive, it was like reading an open book: He was shocked… moved… skeptical. He didn't believe she liked him this much. Plus, he _was _embarrassed about his clothes, just as she had thought he would be.

She took pity on him; she silently offered him a hand. Grissom took it after a pause. He toyed with the idea of pulling her into the water, and he even tugged on her hand, as if testing the possibility. In the end, he got up. He was still searching for words, when he noticed something.

"What happened to your nails?" he frowned.

"I had a manicure," She said brightly, barely containing her laughter when she saw his expression of disbelief, "and a pedicure, too. I had to look nice for a party." She added playfully, watching for his reaction.

Grissom kept his expression completely blank.

"A party?" he asked.

"Greg asked me to be his date and I said yes." She explained matter-of-factly. That didn't get any reaction from him, so she added, looking closely at him. "And that's not all I did in your absence, Grissom. I kissed Nick on the cheek," she said. Grissom merely stared at her, without letting his feelings show. "And I told Warrick my darkest secret." She finished.

To her utter surprise, it was this bit of information that got a reaction from him: he was hurt. Not that he said anything; he didn't have to. The look in his eyes was enough. He was sad because she had trusted someone else, not him. Brass was right. For Grissom, love by itself wasn't enough.

"You were right, Grissom." She said softly, "Things changed while you were away."

He looked serenely at her, but inwardly he felt as if he were facing a firing squad. In his mind, he was refusing a blindfold, willing to face 'death' courageously.

"What things?" he asked calmly.

"I grew up, for one." She said simply.

"Is that why you came?"

"I came here because…" she gulped, "Because some things can only be said face to face, Grissom. I wanted to tell you that… you were right when you said that we needed to spend some time apart. It _was_ a shock to me." She admitted, "I felt so lonely- But it forced me look around and become aware of what other people mean to me-" she paused, feeling terribly frustrated. She had so many things to say she didn't know where to begin. She slowly lifted her free hand and touched his cheek, "Griss, before I say anything else, there's something important you should know: no matter what happens- there'll always be a place for you my heart."

He realized what she was telling him; she had read those two messages. He looked away.

"I loved your message." She said tenderly. "You were so honest-"

"I was going to delete it-" he began, "But you already know that, right?" he looked at her. "Look, I'm glad you read it. You had a right to _know. _It's just-" he took a deep breath, "I feel as if... you know-" he shrugged.

"As if you were standing naked in the middle of the lab," she said teasingly, "while Catherine points out every little flaw in your body?" she said teasingly.

"Yes." He chuckled shyly, " That's exactly what if feels like."

"I understand the feeling." She said, "_I _feel naked right now, Grissom. I mean… here we are, holding hands and… I have so many things to confess, and-" she suddenly opened her eyes wide. "Grissom?" she cried, jumping away, "There are some fish are trying to get into my underwear-"

Lucky fish, Grissom thought, although he kept that to himself.

"Let's get out of the water," he said, chuckling.

They reached the shore and shook the excess water. Grissom took something out of his pockets and threw it in the trashcans.

"Trash?" she asked, "You were picking up trash?"

"I like to cooperate with the locals."

Sara sat on a little patch of grass.

"You like it here, don't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly, "I do. It's really easy to become part of the community." Grissom sat by her side and stretched his legs. He looked at her, "How did you manage this, Sara?" he was concerned, all of a sudden, "You didn't quit, did you?"

"Nope." She smiled, "I simply let Catherine give me one of her 'you-need-to-get-a-life' speeches and followed her advice."

He smiled, genuinely amused. He was going to make a comment, but someone shouted his name. He turned and waved at an old man walking towards Santander. Sara took the chance to really look at Grissom. He hadn't trimmed his beard; and he was very tan. The golden tone of his skin made his hair look a bit grayer, but on the other hand, it made his eyes shine like-

She reddened when she realized he was aware of her scrutiny.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing." She looked away, "I'm just…getting all mushy headed over you." She confessed. "I'm beginning to compare your eyes to jewels"

"Really?" he asked, getting very interested, "Well, don't stop. Go on."

"Nah, hah." She said, deeply embarrassed, "It's your turn to say something nice."

"I like your legs." He said casually.

She opened her mouth and didn't say anything. He chuckled.

"See?" he said smugly, "I can surprise you too."

They smiled at each other for a moment, until a couple of kids walking by waved at Grissom.

"You've become very popular," she observed.

"I ate a cockroach in front of them; what do you expect?"

"Oh, Grissom, yuck!"

He chuckled. Then he took her hand.

"I'm glad you're here." He said.

"Me, too." she said softly. She caressed his hand with her thumb, "did you really figure it out, Grissom?

"Yes." He said simply. "Look, Sara," he said earnestly, "I _want _this. I do. It's just… I'd rather not do anything that might endanger our friendship."

"Neither do I," she replied, "Friendship is important to me too. We haven't even had that lately and I miss it."

"We'll work on it." He said, "How long are you staying?"

"I was planning to return with you."

He smiled. He liked the idea of spending a whole week with her in this place.

It was somehow terrifying, too.

"Can you believe we're here, together?" Sara asked suddenly and he knew what she meant. There they were, a couple of clueless nerds, holding hands and preparing for a huge change in their lives. Friendship… romance…

"Do you know what I like about this?" he asked, looking at her, "What I like about you and me?"

"What?"

"That everything is so new." He said, and his smile was hopeful and,"Do you realize how new the world is, Sara? All those first times, waiting for us." He added, "For instance, this is the first time we sit together, holding hands- " his voice trailing off.

"First time looking at each other's legs-" she added softly.

"First time falling over backwards for you." He chuckled self-consciously.

"First time fleeing from the fish." She joked. "That won't happen again. I'll wear my swimsuit. Which reminds me," she brazenly eyed him, "This is the first time I've really seen you."

"Ah, yes," he said, embarrassedly, "You won't let me forget that. There's another first for us, Sara: First time dancing together-"

"Dancing?" she did a double take, "You dance?"

"Uh. Not exactly. But I paid for ballroom dance classes-"

"What? Why?"

"Hey, they were auctioning services," he shrugged, "Remember the charity ball? It was to benefit the butterfly reserve, so-"

"Oh. Well, as long as it's for a good cause…" her voice trailed off, "Oh, there's another first-" she added, "First time stepping on your toes as we try to dance."

"First time looking on as the sun comes up…" he said softly, thinking of another first that seemed less like a dream and more like reality now: first time waking up side by side –or better, first time waking up in each other's arms –

Sara was daydreaming too.

'First time holding you in my arms.' She thought. And then she smiled in anticipation, as her mind came up with a devilish thought, 'First time asking you about Lady Heather-'

She didn't notice that he had shifted in his seat until he whispered the words in his ear… and he was so close that it felt as if he was kissing her. His breath, warm and fresh tickled her and sent shivers down her spine as he said,

"First time telling you that I love you."

THE END

I think there'll be a sequel with a higher rating, to deal with some of those first times…


	8. Thursday Later that day

Thursday again. Part two

Spoiler: _Primum non nocere _

* * *

_"First time telling you that I love you."_

Grissom gaped. He couldn't believe he had just said that.

It wasn't the first time he spoke without thinking first; he had told her once that he'd been interested in beauty only since he met her. But while bursts of spontaneity like these had always worked in his favor – they momentarily paralyzed her into silence, thus giving him a chance to flee – this time he had nowhere to go.

This time he'd have to take responsibility for everything he said or did.

Glancing at Sara, he could well imagine the questions boiling in her head: _'Did he just say what I think he said?' 'Did he mean it?' 'Did he _say _that he loves me, or is he only offering to say it _some day_?' 'When is he going to say it?' _

He didn't know the answers to those questions yet, but he knew he had to say something, so he took her hand and opened his mouth and searched for the right words-

And someone suddenly interrupted him.

"Gil!" a female voice called out, "Hey!"

They looked up in time to see a young blonde woman waving at them. When Grissom acknowledged her greeting with a nod, she made a beeline towards them. She briefly turned to a young man walking a couple of steps behind her, urging him to hurry.

"Brace yourself." Grissom muttered under his breath

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, but Grissom didn't answer. He stood to greet the newcomers, pulling Sara along.

Grissom introduced her to Steven and Marcia Graham, newlyweds spending part of their honeymoon in Pana. Steven shook Sara's hand, but Marcia was more enthusiastic; she kissed Sara on both cheeks and hugged her as if she were a long-lost sister.

"So you're Gil's _friend_!" she gushed, "I knew there had to be _someone, _somewhere! Are you staying long?" she asked enthusiastically, but not giving her any time to answer, "Are you staying at the Porta del Lago, too? "

Porta del Lago was Grissom's hotel.

"Uh, no." Sara answered, "I'm staying at the, hum, the Primavera?" Sara answered self-consciously. "I don't know if I'm pronouncing it right."

"Oh, that's a nice hotel." Said Steven, "So, do you like it here?"

"Yes. Yeah, it's beautiful."

"It's so nice of you to visit!" Marcia said, "Now Gil won't have any more excuses not to come with us," she said, glancing at Grissom, "We've been after him to go out dancing and he's always said no-"

Grissom smiled faintly.

"We should all go to El Molino Viejo tonight!" proposed Steven, "How about eight o'clock?"

"I'm working tonight," Grissom said quietly, "I'm finishing my study on moths."

"Oh. Well, tomorrow then." Marcia said, "Fridays are great at the disco!"

"We'll see." Grissom said non-committally.

"Try to convince him, Sara." Marcia said, "By the way, we're having lunch at Munchies. Would you like to come?"

"We'll eat at the hotel." Grissom said kindly but firmly.

The Grahams waved goodbye a few minutes later, and Marcia performed her kissing ritual again; these time she kissed Grissom too. Once they were out of hearing range, Grissom turned to Sara.

"Are you hungry, Sara?"

Sara was gaping.

"Grissom?" she asked, "Did that woman just pinched your butt?"

"That's what we call the 'Graham cheek treatment,' around here" he explained, and chuckled when he noticed Sara's indignation, "She does it to every male, Sara. It doesn't mean anything."

"But she's on her honeymoon, for God's sake." she glared, "How can she do that?"

"It's just a game for her." He said dismissively. "And he _knows_, in case you're wondering."

She looked curiously at him.

"You don't like them very much, do you?"

"Well, they're excessively bubbly for my taste." He admitted

"So this story about you having to work tonight was only an excuse-"

"Actually, I _do _have to work. I'm documenting the final stages in the development of a rare moth."

"Oh." She tried to hide her disappointment, "Do you have to leave early or something?"

"No." he smiled, "They don't need me 'til seven." He reached for her hand again, "Come on, I need to put on some clothes." He glanced at her, "Are you hungry? I think it's a good idea to eat at the hotel; we'll have some privacy at least. And there's _cocido _in the menu today."

"What's that?"

"A vegetable soup." He explained, "It has cabbage, carrots, potatoes-" and his voice trailed off.

She smiled her approval.

They walked in silence along the shore. When he finally spoke, he tried to sound as casual as he could.

"So, you kissed Nick and went to a party."

"Hum?" she asked. She had been looking at the lake and the question surprised her. "Oh. Yes, I did." then she explained, "I kissed Nick out of gratitude, Grissom; I mean, he offered to take over my cases during my vacation-"

"That was nice of him."

"Everybody's been nice to me these last few days." She said, "Warrick took over my court appearances, Brass watched over me," she said, glancing pointedly at Grissom, "And Greg-"

"-Greg took you to a party." He finished.

"His high school reunion." She said, and she told him all about it. "I never went to any prom, so it was a new experience."

"You did something nice for him, Sara." He nodded. After a moment he asked, "How is everybody back at the lab?"

"They're fine. Archie's been taking bets on you. He calls it, 'Where in the world is Gil Grissom?'" She smiled, "Whoever comes up with the funniest or most creative bet, wins. Catherine's bet was that you are at the Smithsonian, studying their insect collection. Greg was more creative; he says you're acting as a consultant in Steven Spielberg's next movie, a remake of Wasp Woman."

Grissom smiled faintly.

They entered the lobby of the Porta del Lago hotel and Grissom asked for his key in Spanish.

"Hey, I didn't know you spoke it so well." She said, following Grissom to the elevator.

"I took classes a long time ago." He explained.

It wasn't until they entered the elevator that Sara realized that they were going to_ his room_. She nervously glanced at Grissom, wondering what was in his mind.

"Did you mean it?" she asked shyly.

"Did I mean what?" he asked distractedly as he pushed the button for the sixth floor.

"Nothing." She said evasively.

They were going up to his room, so maybe this was not the right moment to talk about love.

Too late had she realized that she had not packed a single piece of sexy lingerie. Right now she was wearing her practical and unimaginative underwear (and she could almost hear Catherine saying, '_cotton panties_, Sara? How could you?'

Grissom didn't notice her turmoil. He calmly opened the door and let her into his suite.

It was airy and tastefully decorated with reproductions of Mayan art and textiles, but what inevitably caught her attention was the bed in the middle of the room – wide, covered with a beautiful blue afghan. She managed to turn her attention to the rest of the furniture –a desk and a chair, a big armoire, and a chest of drawers, and then to a wide glass door that let her have a fantastic view of the lake.

"Oh, wow," she said, "Do you mind if I open the door?"

"Go ahead," he said, "I'll order lunch."

Sara slid the door open and walked out into the balcony. There were a couple of rattan chairs there, and huge red clay pots filled with greenery. She leant on the rail and glanced down. From there she had a lovely view of a pool and a garden, and the lake, of course. It was a wider lake than she had thought, and she hoped she'd have a chance to explore it.

She was so entranced by the beauty surrounding it, that she didn't notice that he was standing behind her.

He had missed her and now he was looking at her, getting his fill. He couldn't believe she was there with him. He had taken this vacation, hoping that eventually she would take some time off herself. She had, but instead of going to some Caribbean island like she should have, she had chosen to come to this unglamorous place.

She was giving him a chance. It moved him.

"I want to say it." He said quietly.

She turned. Grissom was leaning against the doorframe, and looking steadily at her. Sara held her breath.

"I want to." He repeated, "I just think we ought to talk first. We've never done that. I know it's my fault-"

"Gil." She said softly, "It's ok. We have all the time in the world now." She smiled, "But there's something I'd like to say now. I'd like to thank you."

"For what?" he frowned.

"For doing this for me," she said, "For taking this vacation. I have to admit that I was angry at first. I felt betrayed by your leaving." She admitted, "But later, when I realized how difficult it must have been for you to leave everything behind, I understood how much you cared about me." She looked down, "You were right; I needed time away from you. The world is bigger than I thought -there's more people in it, right? Not just you and me, I mean." She looked up.

"And yet," he said wistfully, "Sometimes I only need _you_ in it."

He blinked. He had spoken without thinking again. Grissom didn't wait for her reaction. He mumbled something about taking a shower and left.

She didn't mind being left alone in the balcony. She was smiling from ear to ear.

* * *

Grissom stared at the 'Maria Linda', a boat punctually returning from its daily trip to Santiago. It was about five o'clock. It _felt_ like five o'clock; the sun was disappearing behind the mountains and it was getting a bit chilly.

And his arm was getting numb. Earlier in the afternoon, Sara had put her head on his shoulder and had fallen asleep almost immediately, exhausted by the day's events. In her sleep, she had slowly invaded his personal space until he ended up in a corner of the chair while she used his shoulder as a pillow and his arm as some sort of teddy bear. Every time he shifted a little, she tightened her hold on his arm. He'd never felt so needed; it made him want to protect her and comfort her. But his arm was still getting numb, so he shifted a little. Luckily, she didn't stir.

Grissom smiled fondly at her; she looked utterly relaxed.

A little after lunch, he had tried to coax her into taking a nap in his bed, but she had blushed and refused. Suspecting that she was more tired than she wanted to admit, Grissom decided to bring the bed outside instead; he took all the pillows and the afghan and arranged them on the chairs in the balcony. They sat together then, quietly watching the boats moving in the water.

After a while, she had talked about her friend Tina's tragedy. Grissom had kept his emotions under control, but he couldn't help feeling relieved by the fact that she hadn't been raped herself. That had always been a major concern for him.

He understood now why Sara reacted the way she did when they encountered cases of abuse against women, but there was something bothering him: She had told her story unemotionally, as if it really didn't affect her. Grissom could not believe this was the case.

There was something she was not telling him, or maybe she wasn't even aware of it. Sara's reaction to her friend's tragedy said a lot about herself. She was the first to admit that she had been too hard on Tina, but what Sara didn't seem to realize was that she was even harder on herself. She rarely ever gave herself a break. She kept moving, moving- She rarely stopped.

He had always wondered about her family – who were these people? Were they strict, perfectionist, unforgiving people?

Or were they so indulgent that she herself had set her own limits? Some kids felt compelled to be the adults in the family, while other kids just didn't have a choice. They had to take care of their drunken mom or their sick father, and had to be in control for the sake of others.

Grissom had the feeling that Sara had never had a chance to be a kid and do silly things-

Well, now she had a chance to do fun stuff for a change. She had traveled all the way here, and he wanted to make it worthwhile for her… but he still hadn't a clue as to what to do.

Poor girl, he thought regretfully; falling for a guy who doesn't know how to have fun-

"_Do_ something fun then." he said aloud, and this time she stirred.

"Grsfm?" she mumbled.

"Shhhh, go back to sleep" he whispered.

She blinked when she heard his voice and was plainly surprised to see his face so close to hers.

She immediately sat up, looking around in sudden confusion.

"Wow- It's-" she looked at him, "This is your hotel." She said.

"Yes, it is," he smiled.

"Wha- what time is it?" she asked, discreetly combing her hair with her hands.

"It's about five-thirty-"

"Wow. Sorry."

"Why?" he frowned.

"I fell asleep."

"It's ok, Sara." Grissom said, "You had a long day- sleep all you want."

But she was obviously uncomfortable. She put on her sandals and smoothed down her skirt, and then she picked up the pillows and took them back into the room. Grissom let her.

Sara was nervously putting the pillows in some kind of order, but failing to do the same with her thoughts: she couldn't believe she had fallen asleep; she had never let her guard down like this. She wasn't used to being this vulnerable-

She returned for the afghan, but Grissom had already folded it.

"I didn't snore, did I?" she asked suddenly.

"You drooled a little." Grissom said very seriously, but when she cringed, he immediately added, "Sara, no; I'm only joking-"

"Not funny," she scowled. Then she rubbed her arms, "It's getting cold." She said, and it sounded like an accusation, "I thought this was the '_country of the eternal spring'_?"

"It is," He smiled, "but we also have summers at noon and autumns in the evening."

"That sounds poetic," She said, smiling despite herself. She looked at the lake.

"I love this view." She said wistfully. After a moment, she sighed, "I guess I ought to go back to my hotel."

"Well-"

"I mean, you have to work tonight-" she added, going back into the room. "Right?"

"Yes." He said. "It's my last night studying the moths."

"Could you lend me a book?" she asked as they entered the room again, "I finished the one I brought, and after that nap I don't think I'll be able to sleep the night through."

"Help yourself," he said, opening the armoire. There were about a dozen or so books among the folded clothes. While she happily browsed, Grissom opened a desk drawer and picked a camera and a few other items he'd need for his work at the reserve.

"These are really old books," she said, and Grissom noticed she had picked up 'Experiment Perilous'. "This was printed during a paper shortage during WWII."

"Did you read the 'send a book to a soldier overseas' note on that one?" he smiled.

"By the way," Sara said, "I'd like to buy some souvenirs for the guys at the lab, but if we give them similar gifts we'll be busted, so I was thinking-"

"Gifts?" he frowned.

"Yeah." She paused, "You haven't bought anything for Catherine and Brass and the other guys?

Grissom seemed sincerely puzzled by this.

"Why should I buy them anything?"

"Why?" she repeated, disbelief clear in her voice. Grissom had the sudden feeling that he had failed some test and waited for her to continue, "Grissom," she said, very seriously, "the main reason to buy souvenirs is to brag about your trip."

He chuckled and then he stared at her, looking as if he were trying to make some decision.

"What?" she asked.

"I bought something for you." He said. He opened the desk drawer again and took a small, oblong box. "Hope you like it."

Sara put the books on the bed and gingerly took the box from him.

"Thank you," she said softly and opened it. "Wow." She whispered, looking at a beautiful necklace lying on a strip of black velvet. The chain was silver, set off with tiny reddish stones. She stared at it for a long time. It was the kind of discreet jewelry she liked, and the color- Grissom had chosen the perfect necklace for the dress she had bought for Greg's party. She was speechless.

"Do you like it?" he asked after a while.

"Uh, huh. It's perfect." She said without telling him more. He was going to be surprised when he saw her wearing it with that dress… Boy was she glad she had brought it along-

She was still staring at the necklace, when he put a denim jacket around her shoulders.

"Here." He said, "This'll keep you toasty."

* * *

It was getting dark too fast, but on Santander Street the stores were still open and well lighted. Grissom and Sara walked leisurely, stopping here and there to window shop, but inevitably getting closer to her hotel.

"I'd love to see what you've been doing at the reserve." She said wistfully.

"It's boring stuff, Sara," he said evasively. Before she could argue, he gently grasped her arm to cross the street, "Let's buy dinner." He said, motioning her towards a bakery. "The muffins here are great."

Grissom ordered some croissants and muffins and coffee to go, and waited while the girl in charge packed his order. Grissom glanced at Sara.

"Would you like tea instead of-" Grissom paused when he saw Sara burying her face deep into the collar of his jacket.

"What is it?" he asked, "Are you cold?"

"It smells like you-" she explained, "I love it."

Grissom blinked. Her words had a sudden, physical effect on him. It was as if she had actually _touched_ him. He had never experienced anything like this. Suddenly, he wished he didn't have to leave.

And Sara seemed to understand the conflict. He didn't want to leave, but he was finishing his study, and he had a duty-

"Gil-" she whispered, "Don't you need some help taking notes or something?"

He hesitated only a second.

"Yes, Sara. I do."

* * *

TBC

Next (and last) chapter: What happened on the eighth day? Nah, there won't be a higher rating.


	9. And on the eighth day

The Eighth Day

Spoilers: Lady Heather's Box and The Accused is Entitled. I missed the 'Swap' episode; I don't know if the Grahams in my story resemble any of the characters there. I hope not.

Note: Thank you so much for your reviews!!! I read them at the office; they really light up my day.

* * *

Sara took a deep breath. The air was so fresh, she felt dizzy for a moment. She sat back and huddled under the woolen blanket that Grissom had borrowed from the hotel. She looked up at the sky; even though it was already seven thirty in the morning, the sun was barely a yellowish blur rising behind the mountains. It was still bitterly cold, although the locals working on the shore didn't have any trouble with it; they had their stalls up and ready for the day. 

Sara glanced at the man lying on the nearest deck chair.

Grissom was asleep- or so she assumed, since he had covered his face with a baseball cap. They were sitting on the deck of a boat -not the fastest boat, Grissom had warned her, but the owner was trustworthy and knew his way around. He also included what Grissom called a 'great breakfast' and that's what they were waiting for. Sara smiled. She suddenly felt like a spoiled rich woman.

She reached for Grissom's cap, wondering if she could be bold enough to lift it... she really wanted to take a peek at him; she had never seen his face in repose.

Nah. She would never dare invade his privacy, no matter how tempting.

Besides, he needed the rest. He had worked at the reserve until four in the morning, and then he had insisted on making the arrangements for this trip. He took a half hour to shower and change, and when he picked her up at seven, everything was ready. The poor guy had to be worn out.

And there was something else: Grissom liked being alone and she knew it. Like last night. He had shared his work at the reserve with her, but she instinctively knew that she was distracting him from his study. After a couple of hours, she quietly picked a book and sat to read while he took his pictures and finished jolting down some notes. Even the reserve keepers knew that he wanted to be alone.

She understood the feeling; she enjoyed solitude too. However, she enjoyed being with Grissom more. They shared a love for knowledge, and when they got along, they communicated so well they didn't even need to talk. Sara sighed. She realized they got along better when neither of them mentioned love, and the thought bothered her. It almost made her wonder if it was worthwhile, to keep threatening their friendship like this-

She shook her head. It was too late to back off. Love was the reason they had come here, and it was only a matter of time before _something_ happened. She wanted to sleep with him and he seemed to want it too. Last night, when she had mentioned that she liked his scent (and she still couldn't believe she had uttered those words!), he had reacted. If they had been back at the hotel, near that sumptuous bed- She shivered. She wished she could simply ask him, but she was afraid of turning him off.

And quite frankly... she wished he did the pursuing for a change.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the boat owner.

"Breakfast ready." Carlos said, bearing a tray.

Carlos had met hundreds of tourists for twenty years now, and during that time he had seen everything. From people who took off their clothes to better enjoy the Xocomil to couples who spent the whole day having sex in the cabin, instead of looking at the scenery. There were people who seemed to find God in these waters, and people who simply drank and had to be carried back to their hotels.

This was maybe the first time he'd seen two grown people play with their food.

Dr. Grissom had asked him to include some fresh fruit in their breakfast, and he had taken the time to teach the young lady the names of fruits she'd never seen before. Carlos watched as the doctor picked up a plump granadilla for the young lady. He opened a hole on the ovoid fruit's hard skin.

"You have to scoop the insides-" he said. The young woman took a peek inside and hesitated, "I know." Dr. Grissom said with a nod, "It looks ugly; but it's sweet and you'll like it."

"Grissom, that looks like... like..."

"Yes," he said, barely containing his mirth, "it looks like _nasal secretions_, but-"

"Yuck, Grissom!" she laughed, "I wasn't going to say _it_!"

And then Dr. Grissom started sucking on the fruit, with exaggerated slurping noises.

"Mmmmmh! This is goooood." He said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, bleah" she groaned.

"Try one." He insisted, opening another of the fruits and playfully shoving it in her face.

"No." she avoided him, but he was pretty persistent, "Grissom, I'm warning you." She growled, pushing him back. "I'll try the other fruits, but not that awful thing!"

She demurely ate a piece of pitaya. Then she cut a guayaba in half and peered inside.

"Eek. It has worms in it." She looked evilly at him, "You _love_ worms, don't you? Here, my friend-" And then it was her turn to tease him. And so it went, for a whole hour, until they finished the fruit, worms and all.

Carlos liked these two. They listened as he told them the tales he'd learned by heart when he was a kid, and they seemed interested in every bit of information he gave them about the villages they saw from afar.

Then, when the day turned unbearably hot, the young woman decided to swim.

Carlos shook his head. She was a nice young woman, but not what he'd call a beauty. However, he could see the effect she had on Dr. Grissom; and when she came out of the cabin in a blue swimsuit, the look in the doctor's face had been priceless. The poor man was besotted.

"You look good." Dr. Grissom said simply, even though it was clear that he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Thanks." She said, acting as if she didn't notice the look in his eyes. But she did notice; she was blushing. "It's your turn." she said.

"My turn?" he frowned.

"You brought your cut offs, didn't you? I'm not the only one showing skin today, Grissom." She warned, "Go change."

"Maybe later." He said evasively.

"Grissom?" she said crossing her arms, "I can wrestle you out of that chair if I want."

"Sara..." he sighed.

"I mean it." She said firmly.

Carlos smiled as Dr. Grissom reluctantly went to the cabin to change into denim cut offs. It was great seeing the doctor have some fun, diving from the boat and splashing around with the young lady. He had wondered what kind of relationship those two had, but now he wasn't wondering anymore. He was glad. He liked to think of his old boat as The Love Boat of Pana.

He couldn't imagine that in only a couple of hours, things would change, and not for the better.

* * *

Grissom believed that after Pana, Santiago was the best place to get a decent lunch. As Carlos also wanted to visit his family, they decided to stay at Santiago for a few hours. 

After visiting a painter's studio, Grissom and Sara walked to the main plaza.

"That's the place I mentioned in my e-mail." he said suddenly, pointing at a small house. It boasted a big sign that read, 'Chat room. Free cappuccino'.

"Oooh, that's the place you almost wrecked." She teased. She took a discreet look inside. "That place will go up in flames one of these days!" she lamented.

They continued their walk, but she kept glancing at him.

"Grissom?" she said at last, "Why didn't you want me to read that e-mail?"

"I never talk about my feelings-" He said without looking at her. "You know that."

"I do." She admitted. She looked sideways at him, "But I loved what you wrote." She said, "You'd never opened up before. It was beautiful-"

"It was _embarrassing_, Sara." he said curtly, "Even _I _didn't want to read it." He shook his head, "Nobody wants to do anything stupid or ridiculous-"

Sara shot him a look.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "You're right; after writing that e-mail and after falling on my butt, there's little I can say about being ridiculous-"

"It's not that. I was thinking of all the times I asked you out and you made me feel - I don't know, as if I were some weird specimen-"

"Is that how I've made you feel?" He cringed.

"Well, yes. Sometimes-" she amended.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I never thought of you in those terms, believe me." He said sincerely, "If anything, _I_ am the weird specimen, not you."

"You're not a-"

"Yes, I am," He said gently. "We both know that."

They walked in silence towards the plaza at the end of the street.

"I don't mind being different," he said thoughtfully, "It's useful in my job; it throws people off-" He said casually. "- it _keeps _people away." He added.

He realized those words were just wrong. Sara didn't comment, but she purposefully walked towards the colorful stalls in the middle of the plaza, leaving him behind. There were goods in leather, wood, and glass, and Sara stooped to examine the wood sculptures. She hoped to find something for Brass' desk.

Grissom watched her for a moment, and noticed that her hands were trembling a little. He sighed and went to her. He took her arm and gently motioned her towards a quiet spot away from the stalls.

"Sara," he paused and took a deep breath. "I guess we need to talk."

"Yes." She said, expectantly.

"Ok." He said, "I guess it's my turn." He admitted. "I'm..." he started and then he paused. He wondered if there was a better way of saying the words he had in mind. Probably not. "I'm not someone who'll make things easier for you." He said slowly. He realized by the look in his face, that this was _not _what she was hoping to hear. "I'm older, but not wiser," he added, "I'm clueless about a lot of things-"

"So am I-" she interrupted.

"-and I'm too old to change." He finished. "I can try," he offered, "But there are things that I don't want to change. Disgusting, unromantic things, like raising cockroaches and keeping ants and maggots-"

"I know that-"

"Then there's something that we often forget, but it's very important: I won't help you forget the horrors you encounter in your job, Sara." he paused, letting those words sink in, "I'll only remind you of them."

Sara looked at him in silence.

"I have nightmares and wake up in a cold sweat several times a week," he said, "and that's only if I'm lucky enough to fall asleep." He looked at her in the eye, "That's not much fun, is it?"

"No." she admitted, "But -"

"I know you must go through something similar. I really don't know how these horrors affect your personal life-" he paused again, "No, wait; I know now how they affect you; you were drinking, after all-"

"Grissom-" she tried to interrupt, but he didn't notice.

"You were hurting-" he closed his eyes briefly, "And I didn't _see_ it-"

"It's not your-"

"What I mean is," he interrupted, "that far from helping you, I might only add to the burden. So," he gulped, "you better think this over, Sara."

"I've already thought about this." She said calmly, "I traveled all the way here to be with you." She touched his cheek, "It's really _your _decision now."

"I can't make that decision." He said reluctantly.

She gaped and he hurried to reassure her.

"Sara," he said, taking her hand, "You decide. I promise to do anything you ask me to." He offered. "Anything. But I need you to think really hard about this. Then let me know. Ok?"

Sara would have liked the restaurant in other circumstances. The tables were arranged in a semi circle, with a colonial style fountain in the middle. That was ok. The problem was that they had almost no privacy since the only barrier between them and the street were a few rose bushes. All the things she would have liked to tell him would have to wait until they were really alone.

Sara had been aware of Grissom's blue gaze on her, but she had stubbornly kept her eyes on the menu. But food was the least of her concerns. All she could think of was his offer: _anything... anything... _

She should be happy, right? She should be jumping up and down, making plans for tonight. Hell; maybe she should simply ask him to get in the boat and race back to Pana-

Well, she wasn't happy. Those words of his only made her feel as if he had turned her down again. As always. _Why, Grissom? Why can't you say it?_

The waitress came to take their order, making a fuss over Grissom.

"Churrasco, Dr. Grissom?" she asked with some familiarity, her tone suggesting that she already knew he would say yes.

"Not today," he said. "I'll have the pasta."

Sara ordered a salad and a fruit smoothie, and after the waitress left, she turned to Grissom.

"_Churrasco_." Sara repeated, "That's broiled meat, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Grissom said.

"You can eat meat if you want, Grissom," she said deliberately, "you don't have to hold back just because I'm a vegetarian." she leant on the table, "In fact," she added, letting anger take control of her words, "You can take that as my first command. I mean, if it's true that you'll do _anything_ I ask you to."

Grissom's expression didn't change, and Sara looked away.

The waitress brought their food, and glanced from one to the other, a tentative, worried smile on her lips.

'She thinks we're having a lovers' quarrel.' Sara thought. '_Lovers_, right.'

Sara smiled to the waitress, just to reassure her.

They ate, exchanging only a few words. Silence was becoming unbearable, when Sara noticed that the Grahams were coming down the street. Sara looked away and fervently hoped the Grahams wouldn't spot them... but of course they did.

They waved and, with the confidence that personal beauty gives, didn't wait for Sara or Grissom to invite them over.

"Gil, Sara! It's great to see you!"

"Yeah. Small world, huh?" she said weakly.

"We're going to Reds' for a drink." Steven said, "Why don't you come over after you finish lunch?"

"We'll see." Grissom said.

"What boat did you come in?" asked Marcia, "We could go back together to Pana-"

They exchanged a few words, and Grissom ended up offering them a ride home. Sara smiled bitterly. Apparently, _someone_ didn't want to be alone with her now.

The Grahams crossed the street again, warmly greeting a couple that waited for them on the sidewalk. Sara watched as Marcia performed her standard kiss-on-both-cheeks-pat-on-the-ass greeting on the man.

Sara shook her head.

"That doesn't look so innocent, does it?" She mumbled, "Why does she do it?"

"I asked her about it once." Grissom said, "I told her she was playing with fire."

"What did she say?"

"She laughed," He said, smiling faintly, "she said I had a provincial mind. She also said that Steven would never be jealous, because he knew everything was just for _fun_, spice of life, etc." He stared at the bar, even though the Grahams were no longer on sight, "I still tried to warn her, and told her that in my line of work, the _green-eyed monster_ wrecked lives."

"And-?"

He scratched his beard, thoughtfully.

"She said that Steven wasn't possessive, and that neither of them believed their happiness should rest exclusively in each other's hands."

Sara glanced at the bar too.

"What do you think?" she asked after a pause.

"Uh?" he glanced at her. He seemed lost in thought.

"Do you agree with them?" she asked.

"At the time, I thought it was very unselfish of them." He said simply.

"So, you agree with them." She said, staring at her empty plate.

"I don't know. There _was_ a time when I was glad that Hank Pedigrew was making you happy."

Sara flushed. It was the first time he said that name out loud, and she couldn't believe he'd mention him today of all days. But suddenly it seemed the perfect set up for her own question.

"Did Lady Heather make _you_ happy?"

The words rattled him, even though he recovered quickly. He opened his mouth and it seemed he wanted to say several things, but couldn't decide what.

"_I_ didn't make _her_ happy." He said in the end. He looked at her. "Who told you?" he asked.

"Catherine. Brass, too."

"Of course," he muttered.

"Did you love her?" she asked, and she held her breath as she waited for his answer.

"No." he said.

"Did she love you?"

"I don't think so." he said with a soft chuckle.

They remained in silence for a while.

"I admired her." He said suddenly and waited until she lifted her gaze, "She's a perceptive woman." He explained, "She could have been a really great investigator."

Sara knew that was the greatest compliment he could give anyone.

"She had great insight," he said thoughtfully; "she was able to look at a person and _knew_ stuff about them. She could have been a profiler. I'd never- I'd never met anyone like her."

Sara looked down and discovered that she had been shredding a paper napkin without noticing. She placed her hands flat on the table.

"It took her a minute to analyze me." He said after a pause. He looked at Sara. "Would you like to know what she found out about me?"

Yeah, she wanted to know, but not if it had anything to do with _her._ Before she answered his question, Grissom spoke.

"When we met, I was standing behind Catherine and Brass and I let them talk. According to her, I was someone who was feeling overwhelmed by his responsibilities and longed to leave them in someone else's hands."

"Were you?"

"I guess." He shrugged slightly, "At the time, I was having some difficulty dealing with my job as Supervisor; it was consuming my time in ways I had not anticipated." He admitted.

"But you'd never give up your job, would you?"

"No. And that was the contradiction she talked to me about. _Part_ of me longed to give up the responsibility, but at the same time _I_ couldn't do that. I _crave_ control; it's what defines who I am. Being Supervisor feeds that need in me, and I don't want to lose it" he stared at the fountain while he reminisced, "She said that I needed to be in control of every aspect of my life, because I equated control with safety. The prospect of losing control terrified me-"

"Is that true?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her.

"It made sense at the time." He said simply.

"So, she analyzed you." She said, staring at her hands, "Is that all she did?"

"She offered to help me give up control. She said I didn't have to be afraid; that she'd take care of me-"

Sara frowned. _Talk about weird._

"And?" she pressed.

He scoffed, "I said thank you, and fled."

"But you were intrigued." Sara said, "You found out all about her; you checked up her website-"

He didn't even ask how she knew this. Apparently, he hadn't been that discreet. Or maybe Sara knew him too well. The thought made him feel uncomfortable.

"She offered to take over, Sara." He explained, "Of course I was intrigued. The thought of letting go with someone who would accept me unconditionally- It was tempting." he shrugged, "I wasn't planning on seeing her again, but when a case came up, I thought, why not? There was nothing to stop me, since-" he stopped.

"Since what?" she pressed. Grissom looked at her.

"Since you were with someone else."

Sara flushed again.

"You only needed an excuse-" she challenged, refusing to take the blame for his actions. "She'd been in your mind since that first meeting." She paused, waiting for an answer. "What did you really expect from her? Love?"

"Company, I guess. Acceptance. I thought-" he stopped for some reason. "We both _knew_ what we could get from each other, without expecting anything else."

"You were willing to let her take over your life-" she said, looking at him in the eye, "You wanted to submit-" she paused, but he didn't say anything. Sara shook her head, "I don't believe you can let someone take over your life like that." Sara said softly, "Not if you want to be someone's equal."

Grissom frowned over this, but with a faint smile. She was right, of course. A relationship with Lady Heather wouldn't have been equal.

"I mean," Sara added, "Did you really believe she was being selfless about it? Didn't you realize she would want something in exchange?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't mind her taking over my body, Sara," He said softly. "I thought I could keep my soul to myself."

"And you could?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes." He said, "The case I was investigating- When the evidence pointed to her, I did my job. She expected me to spare her and I didn't."

Sara had kept her hands on the table. She looked at them, noticing that the nail polish was chipping away.

"But you were willing to go to her-" she faltered. "If that case had turned out differently," She said slowly, "You would have stayed with her."

"I don't know, Sara." He said truthfully.

Sara shredded another napkin while Grissom stared at her. They remained in silence until the Grahams' voices called for their attention.

"Hey, Gil and Sara!" they waved.

"We're cursed," Sara muttered.

Steven leant on their table.

"Gil. It's getting chilly. I think the Xocomil will be acting up today. Couldn't we go back earlier?"

Grissom looked around, and he noticed that in fact the day wasn't sunny anymore.

"You're right." He said, pushing his chair back, "I'll go get Carlos. He's at his mom's house." He took out his wallet, but Sara intervened.

"Never mind," She said, "You go, and I'll pay."

Grissom didn't hurry back to the boat. He needed time to put his thoughts in order. Things were getting out of control. Talking had been his idea, but he hadn't planned on mentioning Lady Heather. He wasn't ready to talk about her, not with Sara. The truth was, he didn't feel proud of what he had done.

He could embellish it, of course; he could say that he needed friendship, or unconditional acceptance. The truth was harder to admit: he had gone to Lady Heather like a teenager who goes to a whore to learn about sex. Only, he had gone to her hoping to learn how to have a relationship.

Whatever his motives, the relationship was doomed to fail. Lady Heather walked a fine line between lawful and unlawful acts, and the complete acceptance she had offered came with a price that was just too high. Sara was right; Lady Heather hadn't been interested in being his equal. She had expected him to overlook the evidence he'd followed all the way to her own door and never understood why he couldn't do that. She accused him of sabotaging their budding relationship because he couldn't deal with the fact that she _knew_ him like nobody else had.

He did try to apologize and to salvage their friendship, but she didn't let him. the last time he saw her, her Lady Heather act was back and with a vengeance; she was harsh and aggressive, and she didn't offer him tea or books or even a normal conversation. She told him to either submit or leave, knowing very well that he would never choose the first.

It was only later that he understood why she hadn't let him explain. During the few hours they had spent together - drinking tea, browsing books; she had lowered her defenses and let him see a part that she jealously kept to herself- a softer and vulnerable side –just the opposite of who Lady Heather was. And after she gave him that, Grissom had not hesitated to take her to the precinct. No wonder she couldn't forgive _him_: He had come to know _her, _and instead of cherishing that knowledge, he had rejected her.

In the end, only one thing remained clear to him: If he could hurt someone like Lady Heather, he didn't want to imagine what he could do to Sara.

Sara and the Grahams were talking animatedly on the deck and didn't see him at first. Grissom noticed that Steven was touching Sara as he talked –an arm, a shoulder; casual, innocent moves that Grissom had seen before and meant that this guy was in full seduction mode.

"Carlos is coming back in five minutes." Grissom called out, and the three of them turned.

"Oh, good." Marcia said, "I hope we beat the Xocomil-"

"What is the Xocomil?" asked Sara, "I've been hearing that word all day."

"It's a high wind that blows over the lake most afternoons." Grissom explained, as he approached them, "The water gets choppy, and it rains sometimes."

"Another weather change? Please don't tell me it snows too." Sara half-joked wearily.

"No, it doesn't." Grissom glared.

"Actually, there's a more romantic explanation to the Xocomil," said Steven, looking at Sara, "The legend says that hundreds of years ago, two young lovers –the Mayan Romeo and Juliet, if you want- left their homes and tried to flee to another village. They were captured and killed just as they were reaching the shore. Since then, their spirits found a home in these waters." He lowered his voice to add, "The Xocomil symbolizes the moment of their coupling."

"Oh." Sara muttered.

"Those spirits," Marcia chuckled, "they know how to have fun, I can tell you." She glanced at Grissom, who had kept his gaze on Sara. "Talking about spirits," she added, "Last night I heard some awful screams. Did you hear anything, Gil? Oh!" she exclaimed, "I forgot you didn't sleep at the hotel last night!" she said, glancing at Sara.

"He had to finish his study at the butterfly reserve," Sara explained.

Grissom frowned. Why was she explaining? Was she afraid these two idiots would think he had spent the night at her hotel?

"So, anyway-" Marcia added, "I was thinking maybe it was the Chupacabra-"

"Whoa, the Chupacabra?" Sara looked at Grissom, "Isn't that an urban legend of some kind?"

"It was awful," Marcia continued, "It sounded like a squealing pig-"

"Maybe it was a pig," Grissom said sarcastically, "There were pork chops on the menu today."

"Aw, Gil, you're so bad!" Marcia laughed; but Sara glared at Grissom; she didn't appreciate the joke at all.

He sighed. Yep. Everything was getting out of control.

* * *

Steven had been right. Barely half an hour after leaving Santiago, the wind and the rain forced Carlos to stop the engine and to shepherd his tourists into the cabin. Grissom and Sara didn't mind; both had books to read. The Grahams, however, were soon getting cranky. 

"We should have bought that bottle of wine," Marcia muttered, "At least we'd have something fun to do."

For almost an hour, the storm raged and Marcia nervously muttered something about 'damn horny spirits'. She was getting a bit seasick too, and Sara generously let her have the couch so she could sleep a little. Grissom quietly read and ignored all this, but after a while, he noticed the silence and glanced around: Marcia was still asleep and Steven was talking to Sara in hushed tones. He was being friendly, telling her of his work at his family vineyard; and then he casually put his hand on her thigh.

Sara stared at the hand for a moment, and calmly said something that made the young man pull his hand away, as if it had been burned. He chuckled a little and put up both hands up.

"Ok, ok; I get it."

Sara smiled coldly and quietly rose. She mumbled something to Carlos and went out. She knew there was a small space on deck where she could stand without getting pelted by the rain.

Grissom joined her soon after.

"Hey." he greeted.

"Hey." She said, making room for him, "Strange weather, huh?"

"It'll clear up, you'll see." He said, "You ok?" he asked, looking closely at her, "You're not seasick, are you?"

"No," she glared.

"It's ok if you are, Sara."

"I'm not," she insisted.

Grissom didn't say anything for a while.

"By the way," he said casually, "What did you tell Graham back in there?"

"I told him to keep his hands to himself or I'd crush them."

He smiled but she didn't. She was looking at the gray sky.

"Can I tell you something stupid?" She asked, "Sometimes I wish _you_ made a pass at me."

Grissom looked away.

"I'm scared." He whispered after a while.

"What is it?" she asked, looking around, "Is it the boat? You don't it will hold up?"

"It's not the boat, Sara." He said patiently, "It's all this. You and me- the unknown." He shook his head, "I'm scared of anything I can't predict. Control, remember?" He said, "I'm cursed with the need to know what the consequences of my actions will be-"

"Grissom," she interrupted, "The '_curse_' is that you always assume the worst is going to happen." She said vehemently, "You think we're somehow doomed to fail. You said back there that you'd do anything I asked you to, but I'm sure- so sure- that you don't believe it's going to work out." she paused, waiting for him to deny it, "Why? Why can't you take the risk? I have the feeling that you see me as a fragile creature who won't be able to take the smallest problem-" she shook her head, "And I'm _not_ fragile-"

"You're a strong woman, Sara," he said gently, "But you're not as indestructible as you want everybody to think. You're just afraid that we'll think less of you if you show any weakness-" He paused when he noticed her blushing in embarrassment. Apparently, he was right. "We won't, Sara." He said, gently touching her face, "It's ok to be vulnerable -" he added, but she shied away from his touch.

"I've been vulnerable a hundred times, only to have my face smashed against that wall you keep around you."

Grissom let his hand fall at his side.

It was true. He had built that wall through the years to protect himself, and to keep that precious control intact.

"You're right," he admitted reluctantly, "I've used that wall all my life, and it's kept me safe. Maybe it's kept others safe, too." he shrugged, "I'm just not the great guy you seem to think I am, Sara- at least, not the kind that you should be with. I don't know if I can make you happy, and you deserve to be-" He stopped when he saw her roll her eyes.

"Grissom," She said, "You made me happy today."

Grissom frowned. He had?

He looked down. What had he done today? He remembered hurrying to book this trip, and going to her hotel to pick he up – and she'd been pissed off because he had not given her enough time to put on some make up. Later, he'd grossed her out by eating the granadillas and the worm-filled guayabas- but she had laughed too, hadn't she? And then...

And then she put on her swimsuit, and she blushed when he told her she looked good in it. He recalled with a shiver how her whole body turned rosy when she blushed.

He blinked. Sara was talking again.

"All morning, you were so... so nice. Funny and sweet." She said wistfully. "I really thought we were connecting at last-" She turned to look fully at him, "Look. I _know_ it's hard to open up, and I know that relationships are difficult, but-" she shook her head, "-when I think of all you were willing to do for _her_- It makes me mad, ok? I mean- What is it that made her so special? You can tell me; I know very well that I can't _compete_ with her-"

"Sara, it's not what you think-" he said.

"What is it then?" she asked, "Why was it easier to go after her?"

"Because I didn't care about her," he said abruptly. He looked at her, not knowing what else to say. He was vaguely aware that his shirt was getting drenched by the rain, but right now he was more concerned about her. She deserved to know the truth and he'd have to tell her, no matter how bad he felt about it, "I went to her because I knew that if things didn't work out, losing her wouldn't be as devastating as losing you. It wouldn't really matter, because- because what I felt for her wasn't remotely what I feel for you."

Her eyes were open wide. She couldn't believe he was saying this. He took a deep breath to continue.

"It was easier to go to her because she was offering the kind of relationship I thought I could measure and put limits to, whereas being with you –the way I imagine it- means losing all control. With you, there would be no limits, Sara. No safety nets either. Everything that I am-" he gulped. "I would be out in the open and I'd want to give you everything, and it's scary-"

Sara noticed the emotion in his eyes and she was overwhelmed. _No limits_, he'd said. She understood now what having someone's happiness in one's hands, meant. She suddenly realized that things weren't as simple as she'd thought.

Grissom looked at her, trying to read her expression, and wondering if he had said too much.

"I didn't know it was like this for you-" she said softly.

"I'm sorry."

"No." she put her hand on his arm, "No, please; don't be. I'm glad you told me."

"Are we ok, then?" he asked.

She nodded, but she seemed strangely quiet. She had lost her own confidence.

"Sara... did I make you happy today?"

"Yes," she nodded, "You did."

He smiled. He had made her happy, and without really trying.

"You made me happy, too." He said gently.

She lifted her gaze.

"I did?" she asked. She seemed surprised. And relieved.

"You always do." He said and then he chuckled. "Even when you're pissed off or impatient at me."

She glared, but there was a little smile on her lips softening the glare, and he was encouraged by that.

"Can I make a pass at you?" he asked.

She didn't think it was silly to be asked something like this. She simply nodded, looking up expectantly. Grissom tentatively put a hand on her hip. Then he leant to kiss her. Sara's eyes widened and she quickly bent over backwards.

"What is it?" he asked, concernedly.

"Hum. I... uh." She hesitated, looking at his mouth, "I ate that salad that, hum... it had lots of garlic and-"

"It's ok." He soothed, "This is perfect," he said, lowering his voice, "Remember those _first times_ we were talking about yesterday?" he paused. She nodded, "First time kissing." He said, and he leant until his lips touched hers.

Carlos was really surprised to see Dr. Grissom making out with Miss Sidle. He thought it was going to be the Grahams out there in the rain.

Well, he only hoped they wouldn't take off their clothes.

TBC


End file.
